Draw your chair up and hand me my violin

New Story: SHELTER (Teen Wolf)

silkmoth101 — Tue, 19 Jul 2016 18:10:45 GMT

Shelter (10252 words) by silkmoth
Chapters: 1/2
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Original Female Character
Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Derek, Protective Stiles, First Time, Not canon after S 3a, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Future
Summary:

Stiles is coming home. Well, not really.

Sherlock Fic: Pretty Thing

silkmoth101 — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 12:22:06 GMT

Title: Pretty Thing
Sequel to: Let's Dance; third story in the 'Ashes to Ashes' universe
Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Summary: "We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall."

Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: R
Wordcount: 8,950
Genres: Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: Non-Con (mentioned), Sexual Abuse of a Child (in the past, mentioned)
Spoiler: Reichenbach does not happen in this universe, everything else does. There are no spoilers, though.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC and Gatiss/Moffat; I'm making no money, this is just for fun. The summary is taken from the novel 'Tracks' by Louise Erdrich.

Author's Notes 1: Sequel to 'Ashes to Ashes' and 'Let's Dance'.

Author's Notes 2: Trigger warning for discussions about the sexual abuse of a child and dealing with the aftermath. Please do heed the warning; quite a few of the readers of 'Ashes to Ashes' and 'Let's Dance' were upset about the storyline and honestly, this one isn't easy reading stuff, either. You have to trust me, though; I don't do unhappy endings.

Sherlock Fic: Let's Dance

silkmoth101 — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 15:11:50 GMT

Title: Let's Dance
Sequel to: Ashes to Ashes
Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Summary: Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: R
Wordcount: 11,800
Genres: Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: Violence, Sexual Abuse of a Child (in the past, mentioned), Suicidal Ideation
Spoiler: Reichenbach does not happen in this universe, everything else does. There are no spoilers, though.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC and Gatiss/Moffat; I'm making no money, this is just for fun. The summary is taken from the novel 'Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier.

Author's Notes 1: Sequel to 'Ashes to Ashes'

Author's Notes 2: Trigger warning for discussions about the sexual abuse of a child and dealing with the aftermath. Please do heed the warning; quite a few readers of 'Ashes to Ashes' were upset about the story and honestly, this one isn't easy reading stuff, either. You have to trust me, though; I don't do unhappy endings.

A HUGE thank you to my lovely beta heavenlyxbodies, not only for wading through this thing but also for putting up with the author's brooding. Again, the biggest thanks to my sister E. for extreme-cheerleading. :)

Let's Dance

Experience: That most brutal of teachers.
But you learn, my God do you learn.

C.S. Lewis

"How would you phrase it? Ah, I remember: I am so disappointed with you."

"Sherlock…"

"Ah, ah! Let me continue. If you had a good day at the office you would say: I am so very, very disappointed with you."

Earplugs. Why didn't I think of earplugs?

It was certainly not the first time John had to listen to the Holmes brothers squabbling, but usually he could just leave, maybe even bang a door if he was in the mood for it. But he couldn't exactly open the door of a car driving far too fast on the M4. Well, he could. But it would definitely put a damper on this nice, sophisticated family outing. And on Sherlock's mood. John wasn't so sure about Mycroft's.

"You can't possibly believe…"

"This has not anything to do with believing. I am just stating the obvious."

Christ.

John wouldn't even mind if they would fight about something worthwhile, for example about the whereabouts of Dr Richard Holmes. Or about the very important, but for some reason not yet mentioned topic of what they would tell Mrs Holmes when she asked why John was accompanying Sherlock to her birthday party. But no, no. They were fighting because Mycroft had apparently chosen the wrong birthday present. No, that wasn't fair, he had chosen the right present… it just had the wrong colour.

"John, what do you think about…?"

"God, Sherlock, leave me out of this, will you?"

Immediately, Sherlock looked affronted, and John drew his shoulders up, pressed himself even further into his corner and stared out of the window at the landscape flying by, not seeing anything. He found it hard to cope with the way Sherlock was behaving, with the mask so firmly put in place. Rationally, John knew what was going on and hell, he even approved of it, but nonetheless, his emotions were clashing badly with his rationale.

Two days, it had been only two days and still, John had already gotten used to a gentler side of Sherlock, a softer… Gentle, soft, my arse! John huffed silently. He was the biggest sap running around freely in England. When he tried to think dispassionately of the last days, he would have to describe them as awkward, exhausting, and stressful. Sherlock and he, they had had a rocky start into a rocky relationship; moving from being friends to being lovers might sound easy, but it was not, especially not with the baggage they had to carry with them. They had to readjust boundaries and, of course, they had tried to do that without talking about it, so they had bumped into each other constantly, both physically and metaphorically. The whole time, John had been afraid of making a wrong move, and Sherlock had noticed it every time and had begun a fight with him. There had been lots of yelling. There had also been some tenderness. And that had usually started the next round of becoming afraid and fighting and yelling.

John could have sorted all this out if he managed to think about it objectively. He did not. He was flying high on endorphins. The last two mornings, he had woken up and spent, at least, one hour staring at the man who was miraculously sleeping beside him. Or on top of him. It had been no surprise; Sherlock Holmes was a cuddler. He had never really had any idea of keeping his distance, and now Sherlock was incredibly affectionate… whenever they were in a room with a bed in it. Or a fridge, John thought and frowned. One part of him wished it hadn't happened, at least, not the way it had. And he fervently wished Mycroft hadn't come by. John closed his eyes; he still could see Sherlock on the floor, head thrown back, utterly gone…

Mycroft cleared his throat, loudly. "John, you should… think of something else. We'll be at the house shortly."

Eyes snapping open, John looked at Mycroft for a moment, then nodded. "You're still on top of things. Would you be so kind to lay out the rules for me, how you want me to behave?"

Sherlock beside him started to frown, but John didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on Mycroft who had flushed slightly.

"Well, there is no reason for either of you to… alert everyone about your…"

"Our what?" Sherlock asked.

"The status of your relationship. I told Mummy that you are… friends, flatmates. You know how she is."

"Your mother is a homophobe?"

Mycroft's head turned back to John. "No, she is not," he said angrily, "not at all. Mother would be delighted; she would all but adopt you. But your relationship is very new and…I just do not want her to get used…" he trailed off again; suddenly he seemed more nervous than angry.

Sherlock sat back. John threw a quick look at him and winced; Sherlock's eyes were cold.

"Thank you so much for the confidence, Mycroft."

John looked down at his hands and sighed. He always had thought that Harry and he had a bad relationship, but their fights, they were nothing like what these two could do to each other with a few words. The real tragedy was that Mycroft was trying hard to get along with his brother and was still failing every time; while Sherlock was always assuming the worst from Mycroft.

The silence that followed was so loud and went on for so long it became almost unbearable for John. Careful what you wish for. You should have enjoyed the bickering. Already doubting the wisdom of his actions and doing it anyway, John reached out for Sherlock's hand with his own and was surprised when it got snatched immediately. He glanced at Sherlock again and found him staring out of the window. Following his gaze, John felt his eyes going wide. Sherlock's grip on his hand got tighter.

"That is… 'The House'?"

"Yes."

John tried not to gape, but could not stop. He had known -of course he had, from the first moment on- that Sherlock came from old money. But he hadn't expected something so… dramatic, there was no other word for it. It would still take them some time to reach it, but despite the distance, despite the ugly weather, it was beautiful. Pearly-white, situated on a hill, surrounded by firs, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. John shook his head. "Wow," he said softly. Sherlock cocked his head to the side and leaned forward, whispering into John's ear, "Mother calls it Manderley."

***

They had just gotten out of the car when the door to the house burst open and an extremely tiny and plump woman shot out, ran over to Sherlock and literally pounced on him. Laughing, Sherlock caught and hugged her, and she was talking even more quickly than John had ever heard Sherlock talking, out of breath and giggling and tousling her son's hair. John was rooted on the spot; this morning, Sherlock had told him -well, maybe 'warned' was the better word- that his mother was very sentimental, but still, John had imagined Mrs Holmes to be the exact opposite of what he could see now. He had expected a tall, lean, distinguished lady. After all, even the Queen herself would appear overly emotional between Mycroft and Sherlock.

Watching Mrs Holmes bouncing toward a laughing Mycroft -Jesus, Mycroft is laughing!- John retreated slowly to the boot where Mycroft's driver was just unloading their overnight bags, but before he could offer to lend a hand, John's arm got grabbed by Sherlock who drew him back to the others.

"Mummy, allow me to introduce Dr John Watson. John, this is my moth…"

Mrs Holmes interrupted him. "Oh, I am very happy to finally meet you, Dr Watson!" she beamed, enveloping John's hand between hers. "Mycroft told me so much about you!"

John heard a muffled sound coming from Mycroft, but he could not take his eyes off Sherlock's mother. She had a beautiful round face like a china doll with huge, slightly slanted blue eyes, long, long lashes, a shock of unruly salt-and-pepper locks pinned up into an enormous bun -her hair had to be very long- and a radiant smile that was all… Sherlock.

John swallowed. "Happy Birthday, Mrs Holmes. Thank you for the invitation."

"Oh, thank you! And Sherlock's friends are always welcome here," she laughed and glanced up at her son, open adoration in her eyes. John winced a bit at her words, but Sherlock didn't react to them at all, just leaned down again to kiss his mother's cheek. He looked incredibly young.

"Now, let us go inside! The weather's so nasty today; can you believe that they said it will snow tonight? Snow! Today of all days! I cannot imagine… No, please, Dr Watson, let Charles handle the bags!"

All of a sudden, the atmosphere changed. Sherlock froze, Mycroft frowned, and John had no idea what was going on; he looked back and forth between the brothers, Mrs Holmes, and a young man standing in front of him, reaching for the bag in John's hand.

"You're the young Charles Adams?" Mycroft asked in a cold tone, stalking over.

"Yes, sir," the guy answered, apparently intimidated. John could see why… Mycroft had lost his smile.

Mrs Holmes shook her head and tapped on Mycroft's arm. "I forgot to tell you; I employed Charles a week ago. We're so glad to have him!" Turning to John, who still didn't understand a word, she explained, "Charles' late grandfather was our butler for many years. His name was also Charles… it's all a bit confusing!" She laughed again and John forced a smile on his lips, while he watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eyes.

Standing very upright, Sherlock looked at the house, expression blank.

The last item in the boot was Sherlock's violin case; John got hold of it, ignored Mycroft's prolonged, "I see," as well as Mrs Holmes' on-going chattiness and went over to his lover. "You okay?"

"I am fine," Sherlock answered calmly.

Right.

"Come on now, boys. You are late anyway!" Mrs Holmes hurried toward the front door, a miffed looking Mycroft on her heels. John and Sherlock followed them at a more leisurely pace -John worried and Sherlock seemingly unfazed again.

The moment they entered the hall, they were at once separated by several servants who descended on them like shepherd dogs parting their flock. The sudden heat and the babel of voices of God knew how many people felt like a physical attack to John. Dazed, he opened the white parka he was wearing over his best suit; one of the servants helped him out of it. Yet another one reached for the violin case, but John shook his head. "I'll keep that, thank you." He looked around for Sherlock to ask him where he wanted the violin. It took some time to find him. He and Mycroft were surrounded by people who all looked extremely posh; there was much shoulder-clapping going on. Every now and again, John caught glimpses of Mrs Holmes who seemed beside herself with joy.

John sighed; he had known beforehand that he would stick out like a sore thumb amidst those people and still, he felt a bit stupid, standing there alone, clutching a violin case. He let his eyes wander around, from the living room -Room? Hall!- filled with people and maids, who were juggling salvers with various drinks, to the impressive double staircase leading to the upper rooms and, to John's right, the dining hall where other servants hastened around an enormous dining table that was already decked out with blindingly shining crystal glasses and bowls, not to mention the gigantic chandelier that hung above it. Well, it may be a bit creepy but Manderley is definitely the right name for this place.

Wondering where the bathrooms were, John turned his head back to the cluster of people, when he suddenly noticed someone standing at the head of the previously empty staircase. And even before he raised his eyes, he knew, he knew whom he would see.

Impeccably groomed from head to toe, Sir Richard Holmes looked down at John, an amused smile on his face.

***

From one second to the other, John was flooded with hate; hate so intense he got dizzy from it. He took two quick steps forward, then, just as suddenly, he stopped again.

Sherlock!

Turning his head, he saw Sherlock standing with his back to him, one arm around his mother's shoulders. John looked back at Holmes who hadn't moved; only his smile had become taunting, and one eyebrow was raised mockingly.

Feeling completely impotent, John didn't know what to do. A sound escaped him, but instead of the expected growl or yell it was only a whimper. Torn between the need to fight and the need to protect, John threw another desperate, vain look in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock didn't notice a thing, but for some reason, Mycroft did. He turned slightly and looked at John questioningly… and then he saw his father. Immediately, his face became scarlet with a streak of white around the eyes.

Suddenly, the choice was easy. John decided to let Mycroft deal with his father. John's duty was to get Sherlock out of this house as soon as possible. He was almost right next to Sherlock when he realised his mistake. Mycroft did not move, did not take any action whatsoever; in fact, he didn't do anything besides getting his expression under control again. John, stunned, waved his hands around, but now Mycroft ignored him completely; his suddenly composed gaze was fixed on his father, who was already slowly going downstairs… and would reach the bottom any second now.

John gave up on Mycroft, gave up on attacking, gave up on anything, really, and closed the distance to his still unsuspecting lover. Without hesitating or paying any attention to decorum, he laid his arm around Sherlock's waist and ripped him away from the animated conversation with whomever and from Galiena Holmes, who almost overbalanced because her son had to let go of her all of a sudden. Sherlock made a startled noise and looked at him; whatever he saw on John's face made his eyes narrow.

"John? What…"

"We have to go. Now!" John whispered urgently.

"What happened? What…?" Sherlock leaned forward as if to get a closer look at John's face, then his gaze wandered over to Mycroft and he froze. John turned to also take a look and saw Mycroft striding towards his father, still with this weirdly unperturbed facial expression. John's grip on Sherlock's waist tightened. "Let's go."

"No." Sherlock stood very straight again.

"Sherlock…"

"Let go of me." Clipped, cold tone. "Stay out of this."

John, unable to let go, stared up at Sherlock. He felt at once sick to the stomach by what he saw. There was no trace of emotion, Sherlock's face and eyes were as cold as his voice. His gaze had left his brother and father; he was now looking at his mother who was on her way to husband and son.

"Stay out of what exactly?" John asked hoarsely.

Sherlock made a very pointed step away from him, and this time, John let him. "Control your temper, John."

Control my… "Dr Watson! Come and meet my husband, Richard!" Mrs Holmes beamed at her husband while Mycroft circled the couple and, instead of standing close to Sherlock, stopped beside John, a definite warning in his eyes.

"Dr Watson. Pleasure to meet you. Again." Richard Holmes' smile was broad, showing off pearly-white teeth.

John had always thought 'seeing red' was just an expression; now he knew better. He was filled with adrenaline; his mouth was bone-dry and at the back of his throat he could taste something metallic, like blood. Somehow, he managed a jerky nod. He couldn't have spoken a word if his life had depended on it.

Silence for a moment; then, unexpectedly, Mycroft began to speak. "Father has already met Dr Watson at the congress, Mother. John accompanied Sherlock."

"What? You already met up with Sherlock? But then… why did you want me to keep this a secret?"

Richard Holmes didn't answer for a few moments; he was looking at John, appraisingly. Finally, he turned to his wife. "I met Sherlock and Mycroft, Galiena. Since I wanted this to be a surprise, I told them I had to leave again."

"And they believed you?" Mrs Holmes laughed. "How silly!"

"Yes," John heard Mycroft's toneless voice next to him, "silly."

John willed himself to look away from Holmes and at Sherlock who stood beside him, still ramrod straight. He didn't notice John, but neither did he look at his parents anymore or at his brother; he stared straight ahead at the staircase, eyes dark. Worried to death and not at least willing anymore to think about what he should or should not do, John clutched Sherlock's hand. Fuck them. Fuck each and every one of them. The hand in his twitched nervously, but John held on tight.

Silence again; John heard Mrs Holmes taking a deep breath.

"Oh. OH! Why didn't you tell me?" she cried, and before John could blink he found himself engulfed in a tight hug, then Sherlock's mother whirled around to face her husband again. "Another surprise! How wonderful!"

Holmes' stance was mirroring Sherlock's earlier pose perfectly. He did not move, he just stared at the entwined hands in front of him. The look in his eyes was strangely amused; for some reason, it chilled John to the bone.

"Indeed," Holmes said eventually, "another surprise. And the night is still young."

***

The doorbell rang, and John seized the opportunity of the arrival of new guests and pulled Sherlock into a corner of the hall, almost knocking over a floor vase with the violin case he still had in his hand. Sherlock followed him slowly -John was sure that if he stopped dragging him Sherlock would simply stand still. "Sherlock? We really have to lea… "

"John? Oh, may I call you John?"

Turning his head, John found himself face-to-face with Mrs Holmes again.

Please, go away. "Ah, yes, of course you may, Mrs Holmes."

"Stop that! Call me Galiena, please?"

"… Thank you so much. It's an honour. Galiena." Go away!

Sherlock's mother smiled at him. "Please, give me the violin; I'll put it on the piano, shall I?" She beamed at Sherlock, who nodded and then she scurried off again.

"Can we go somewhere more private to talk? I'm sure your mother will be back the moment she…"

"No, she won't." Sherlock looked over to the entrance. "She has other things on her mind now. My father's best friend has just arrived."

The first thing John saw was Mycroft who stood aside and downed his drink like a sailor would and immediately filled his brandy glass again. Then he noticed a couple of men in dark suits with earpieces and grim faces. And then…

"Oh, Jesus Christ!"

"John…"

"Is that…?"

"Indeed. The reason Mycroft will be drunk in no time." Sherlock looked at John. "Do not worry, no one, not even my mother will introduce you. Just ignore him."

"I won't have to ignore him. We will leave."

"No."

"Sherlock…"

"No," Sherlock repeated, voice cold again. "I won't go anywhere. But…" he hesitated for a moment, then continued, "…you should leave." John snorted, but Sherlock shook his head. "It's the best solution for everyone. Leave. I want you to leave."

"You do not really think I would abandon you, leave you alone here with this bastard? Please tell me you don't think that."

"Don't be dramatic. It has nothing to do with you abandoning me, it is just…"

Suddenly angry, John interrupted him. "It has everything to do with abandonment!" Noticing how loud his voice had become, John swallowed and tried for calmness. "I won't leave without you. I want to stay with you."

There was a loud GONG.

Dinner bell. Wonderful. While he was watching Sherlock's cold expression, John wondered if he would be able to eat and actually swallow anything.

***

As it turned out, John could eat. As long as the bastard at the head of the table was able to gorge himself John would do the same. On and on, through soup and fish, he kept up with Holmes, bite for bite.

The seating arrangements were interesting, John thought. He was sure they had been changed for him, and him alone. I probably should feel honoured. At the head of the table, Sherlock's parents sat; right next to the bastard, John was sitting… in stabbing distance, which suited John fine. Opposite to him, Sherlock was sitting, eating slowly, his mother to his left, Mycroft to his right side.

Mycroft. Jesus. He was drinking the wine quickly as if he was scared it would be outlawed tomorrow. As far as John had seen, he hadn't eaten a thing yet.

To Mycroft's right side… John tried to not look at the man sitting there. He was a bit too… royal for him to stomach. John also did his best to ignore the bodyguards standing close to the wall, two behind Sherlock, the other two no doubt directly behind him.

The servants appeared again to clear away the second course. Richard Holmes sat back, kind of lounging on his chair. John looked away for a moment; it was hard for him to see how familiar the pose was. His gaze flitted back immediately, though, because Holmes started to speak. Until now, he had kept silent, letting his wife chatter like a bird throughout the whole meal; it had gotten on John's nerves badly, but now he wished she would keep going.

"Mycroft. You haven't eaten much. What is going on?"

Mycroft looked up, but before he could answer, his mother chopped in. "Are you still on a diet?" She laughed. "The poor boy has inherited my metabolism, I'm afraid." The conversation on the table started to ebb off and so her next words appeared to be even louder than they were. "Sherlock has been dealt better cards, haven't you, sweetie?" She laid a hand on Sherlock's forearm; he smiled at his mother.

"Yes, he is still a pretty thing, isn't he?"

To see Sherlock's reaction to his father's words was frightening; at least for John. He blushed and looked at his father, eyes very bright. For a glorious moment, John thought, Here we go. Finally. He was so ready to beat the shit out of Holmes that it took him a second to realise that Sherlock wasn't gearing himself up for a fight… not at all. He smiled at his father, a fleeting smile, there for a minute and gone again, with Sherlock looking down at his plate, but…

Taken aback and with no idea what was going on, John turned his face toward Holmes. And there it was, that look in his eyes, that perversely longing, owning, satisfied look John had already seen once, a few days ago at the hotel.

Very slowly, John took hold of the sharp silver knife that had been laid out for whatever meat would arrive with the next course. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Mycroft sitting up, tensing all over. Strange indeed, what Mycroft thought important and what not. With one short motion, John let the knife handle rap on the table, once. Immediate success; Holmes' eyes left his son and fixated John. Of course, they were mocking, looking back and forth between John's face and the knife in his hand. Letting himself imagine for a moment how easy it would be to slit the bastard's throat even through the silken scarf he no doubt had to wear tonight, John also smiled, broadly. Holmes watched him for another minute, then, suddenly, leaned forward quickly, elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, chin resting on the hands. He was very close. John felt his adrenaline levels skyrocketing. He carefully laid the knife down at the table again; he would not need a knife.

"Tell me, Dr Watson, do you take good care of my son? He is very dear to me."

"Very good care. Do not trouble yourself."

The ensuing silence was broken by Mrs Holmes. "Oh, I meant to ask you, how did you and Sherlock meet?"

John let his gaze leave Holmes as if he meant nothing. "A mutual friend introduced us and…"

"A mutual friend?" Holmes tossed in.

Mycroft coughed, but John did not need the warning. "Yes, a mutual friend," he repeated, sounding as if he was talking to a child, which was no mean feat, considering the mood he was in. Turning back to Sherlock's mother, he continued, "I just came back from Afghanistan and was looking for a flatmate. We…"

"Oh, so you are an army doctor?" the one person on the table John didn't even know how to address asked. He floundered for a moment, but for some reason, Holmes helped him out.

"Yes, he is. Fascinating, isn't it?"

"It is!" Mrs Holmes cut in again, eyes big. "Sweet Lord, what you must have seen!"

"Indeed!" Holmes' eyes became wide, too; he was now openly mocking his wife. "So you're… what? An expert at treating… bomb victims?"

John nodded slowly. "Yes. That and… treating gun shots."

This time, Mycroft's cough was for real. He was apparently choking on the wine. His mother shook her head wildly; a few more locks were escaping the bun on her head. For the first time, John felt uncomfortable looking at her. She was a bit beside herself, with hectic red blotches on her face and a strange gleam in her eyes. Her other guests seemed to share John's opinion. The table had fallen silent, only Holmes appeared unfazed.

"Terrible! Terrible! But back to you and Sherlock! So you shared a flat?"

John nodded again. He tried to catch Sherlock's eyes inconspicuously, to no avail; Sherlock stared down at the table top.

"And then you fell in love? How romantic! Oh tell me, why did you fall in love with Sherlock?"

By now, Holmes looked ready to burst out laughing, Mycroft looked like he wanted to vanish under the table, and the rest of their company seemed to hold their collected breath due to this unbelievable breach of protocol. Only Sherlock did not appear embarrassed, he did not flinch, in fact, he did not move at all.

What's not to love? But the words died on John's lips when Sherlock suddenly spoke up. "Mummy, please… a change of topic would be welcome. You're making John uncomfortable."

His mother blushed and stammered, "Oh, I'm sorry, John!" and Holmes leaned back on his chair, taking a sip of wine. John tried -again- to get Sherlock to look at him but his lover didn't play along; instead, he leaned over to Mycroft and murmured something that made his brother grunt.

The third course arrived.

***

Clutching the glass with water in one hand, John shifted around to find a somewhat comfortable position on the most uncomfortable chair he had ever sat on. Mycroft beside him sat ramrod straight, of course, maybe the alcohol helped blurring the edges of the carved wood.

The party had moved on to the living room after dinner was over. John bitterly regretted the two slices of Beef Wellington he had somehow managed to gobble down; they had turned to lead the moment he had entered the huge room and seen the gleaming black Schimmel grand piano standing centrally arranged in there. The violin case on it had already been opened, the violin waiting for Sherlock.

John looked past Mycroft at Sherlock, who stood engrossed in conversation with his mother and two elder women at the table where the presents were heaped up, then his gaze flitted over to the large fireplace behind the grand piano; there, Holmes leaned at the mantelpiece, laughing about something his apparent best friend just said to him. As if he could sense John's stare, Holmes raised his head and looked directly into John's eyes. For a minute, his expression was completely impassive, almost bored. He straightened up, put his tumbler on the mantel and took hold of the poker resting in the fire next to him. Drawing it out, Holmes moved it slightly from one side to the other, as if admiring the red-hot steel. His eyes never left John, though, not even for a second.

John didn't need to see the slow smile blooming on the bastard's face to know that he had gotten exactly what he had wanted from one John Watson; an infuriated, helpless, indubitably murderous and at the same time powerless looking man. It didn't matter. If Richard Holmes wanted to play head games with him for the rest of this fucked up visit… that was fine with John. The important matter was to keep Sherlock out of the line of fire. John could see from the corner of his eyes that Sherlock was still busy with the ladies; his mother was just hugging her youngest son close to her.

"John?"

Wondering how Mycroft still managed to appear completely sober, John murmured, "What?"

"What is going on right now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Between you and my father."

An angry answer already on the tip of his tongue, John reconsidered. Not sober. Dead drunk. "Shall I draw you a picture?" he finally hissed, trying for something between lack of comprehension and sarcasm, failing spectacularly.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

John almost growled. "The poker?"

"What about it?"

Mycroft looked bewildered, and John took a deep breath. How can he not know? How can he…?

"John?"

"Nothing. It's not… important." John swallowed. "Your father likes to play games, that's all."

Mycroft's expression hardened. "Don't let him get to you. He is not someone…"

Mycroft continued to talk, but John tuned him out; he was distracted by the bastard moving through the room, coming to a halt between his wife and Sherlock. And then… Holmes laid an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and John did not realise he had stood up until he felt Mycroft's hand circling his wrist like an iron shackle.

"John!" Mycroft hissed at him, but John wasn't moving anyway. He was watching Sherlock's parents and his lover, and what he saw did not make sense. Holmes said something that made the ladies laugh, his wife clapped her hands once and Sherlock… nodded, seemingly amicable. John shook his head slightly. He knew Sherlock had an incredible talent for self-control and a thousand masks at hand, but… they were so close, standing so close together and…

"John! I know this must be hard for you, but please, look at them. Follow Sherlock's example, would you? If he can do it you should be able, too!"

Looking down at Mycroft, John felt the overwhelming need to start screaming, at Mycroft, at Sherlock, at Sherlock's mother, at everyone present. In a barely constrained voice, he asked, "And why is that? Huh? Can you tell me why we have to go through this charade and…?"

"Ah, Dr Watson, I know these chairs are extremely uncomfortable. Do you want me to find something to bolster… you up?"

Mycroft's hand on his wrist fell away, and John turned around slowly. Holmes was directly in front of him, as close as he had been at the hotel, a soft smile playing on his lips. Behind him, Sherlock stood at the piano, tuning the violin and ignoring John completely.

"Dr Watson? Are you all right?"

It would be so easy to beat the bastard into a bloody pulp. It was also easy to see that this was exactly what Holmes wanted… he wanted John to attack him. And then what would happen? The guards would be over me before I'll get the first real punch thrown… and I would be dragged to the next police station to spend the night there. That is what he wants. John blinked once. "I am fine. But if you'd find me a cushion, it would be most appreciated."

Part Two

Sherlock Fic: Let's Dance - Part Two

silkmoth101 — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 15:09:26 GMT

Please take a look at the author's notes and the warning in Part One

Part Two

The audience was delighted; everyone was clapping enthusiastically. John did not. He felt sick to the stomach and was worried that any movement he made would end with him throwing up all over the expensive afghan carpet. His gaze flitted to the wall clock; father and son had played for over an hour.

Usually, John loved the times Sherlock was playing the violin. Over the last years, he had discovered and enjoyed myriad emotions displayed on Sherlock's face while watching him -playfulness, solemnity, humour, fury, sadness. All these and more, and John knew that Sherlock would be horrified knowing how predictable he became whenever he was holding his violin, so John had not commented on it. But John had never before seen this Sherlock, a Sherlock who seemed to have lost all emotions. Oh, he was excellent, of course, brilliant. On and on, they had played, beginning with the obligatory 'Happy Birthday', moving to Beethoven, Bach, Rachmaninoff, and on with composers John had never heard about before. Sometimes Holmes had announced the new pieces, other times Mycroft had grunted a name. And Sherlock had excelled himself… in perfection. But there had been none of his usual variations, his eyes had been open the whole time, seemingly fixed on nothing, and there had been no smile on his face. Sherlock also did not show any sign of distress or fear, though, and that worried John the most. As good as Sherlock might be, John still had always thought he would be able to detect the true emotions under those masks and now he found he could not. All he could see was calmness and that damned perfection and it drove him nuts.

The applause didn't die down until Holmes finally raised a hand.

"All right, one more piece then."

John heard an impatient sigh coming from Mycroft; in the last hour, he had started inconspicuously rubbing his lower back.

"Something a bit more contemporary, perhaps?" He looked at his son for a moment. "What about Christian Jost? From his opera 'Vipern'? I love his work." Sherlock stared at his father, then, nodding sharply, he raised the violin. Holmes sat back, fingers on the keys, but before he started he threw a short glance at John, smiling serenely. Then they were off again, playing a piece of music that sounded incredibly difficult to master.

John just sat there. Horror was dawning and he didn't know… He looked at Mycroft, but found only annoyance on his face; he didn't seem to like the music. John's gaze switched to Sherlock, and -for the first time- he had closed his eyes, face pale, and John could see little drops of sweat at his hairline. And John knew why.

The bow flies into a corner, barely missing John on the sofa.

"Hey! Watch it!"

Sherlock tears on his hair. "This guy is driving me mad!"

"What guy?"

"Jost!" Sherlock flings the sheets of music in John's direction. "I wonder why the new ones always try to reinvent music! He's impossible!"

John looks down at the booklet. 'Vipern' "I never heard about it."

"Hardly surprising! It's barely six years old. And if you ask me, no one should ever hear about it!"

"Sherlock… if you can't stand it, why play it then?"

Sherlock pauses for a moment, and then takes up his bow. "Because."

John startled at the loud applause, thrown back into the here and now. Horrified, he turned to Mycroft, but found him already on his way to the bar. Everyone seemed to be back on their feet again. Holmes was shaking hands, Sherlock was locking the violin case, his mother at his side. The only one still sitting was John. Try as he might, he couldn't help arriving at the conclusion that… Dear Lord. He was… he had…

"Did you like it? I know it's not to everyone's… taste."

Feeling blood rush to his face, John slowly stood up. The bastard certainly had a knack to get to him… and to find him when he was alone. "Do you really think you will get away with this?" John tried to growl, but even he could hear how close his voice was to breaking.

"This?" Holmes smiled. He always smiled. "What do you mean?"

Between clenched teeth, John spat out, "There is no statute of limitations on that, and you know it."

"Did your father teach you that?"

John was taken aback for a moment, but he recovered quickly and huffed. "My father's specializing in labour law, as you no doubt know."

"Indeed." Holmes' smile became broader. "Ah, Dr Watson. You are far too… how should I call it? Far too common to understand the relationship between Sherlock and me. But by all means," he chuckled, "go ahead and report me. I'm looking forward to the results."

Furious now, John hissed, "He's not a child anymore and I…" he broke off when Holmes threw his head back and started to roar with laughter. John was very aware that many people, including Sherlock and Mycroft, were staring at them.

Soon enough, Holmes calmed down again; he wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye and nodded. "You are sparkling with wit. Well, well. Dr Watson, you can take it or leave it, but here is my advice: If I were you, I would have a long conversation with Sherlock. You know, to get his true opinion on the subject. You might even learn a thing or two." With that, Holmes took a mocking little bow, turned and walked over to Sherlock, who was still watching them. He leaned close to his son and whispered something in his ear that made Sherlock look at him for a minute; then Sherlock nodded shortly, averting his eyes. Before John could take one step towards them, father and son parted; Holmes sauntered over to the fireplace, and Sherlock vanished amongst a group of ladies.

John sat down again.

***

Almost at the end of his tether, John followed Sherlock and his parents upstairs. Most of the party had left during the last hour due to the heavy snow fall, only an old lady friend with her son and royalty plus bodyguards would stay overnight… well, and Mycroft, Sherlock and John. He could not wait to speak to Sherlock in private. He was under no illusion that it would be easy, though. No matter what the bastard had said, John was sure Holmes would do anything in his power to keep Sherlock and John apart tonight. He's in for a shock then, John thought, teeth already clenched.

"We put you in your old room. I hope that's alright with you, Sherlock?" Mrs Holmes said, opening a double door to her right. Sherlock nodded and went straight in, and before anyone could say anything to John, he followed Sherlock so quickly that he almost crashed against the doorframe. Sherlock's eyes had narrowed, and -as John had thought- the bastard spoke up.

"I told Galiena it would be outdated to offer you a guestroom, Dr Watson. That's why I had your bag already brought up here. I guess this is to your liking?"

Surprised, John turned around. Mrs Holmes had blushed all over and smiled uncertainly at him. Holmes also smiled, but not at him. John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock and for the first time this night, he saw what he had expected to see far earlier -Sherlock's face was ashen, his eyes dark… he was horrified. Totally confused, John looked back at Holmes just to watch him retreating, his arm around his wife's shoulders.

"Good night," Richard Holmes said mildly before closing the door.

The following silence was awful. After another quick glance at Sherlock, who was still staring at the door, John swallowed and decided to give Sherlock some time to compose himself from whatever just had happened between him and his father. He took hold of his bag and sat it down on the four-poster bed, then -after looking around uncomfortably for a moment- John went over to the large bookcases that almost completely covered the walls surrounding him. His eyebrows went up immediately when he read some of the titles. John hadn't been sure what kind of books he would find in Sherlock's childhood room, but… all these books were medical books. In fact, they were books that John had had to read while studying. Again, John looked at Sherlock, and then he sighed. It didn't really matter with what topic he started the conversation –he just knew that he would be the one to start it if he wanted to have one.

"You wanted to become a doctor?"

For a second, Sherlock didn't respond, but then his shoulders started to shake. John didn't have time to worry, though. Sherlock was laughing, firstly a bit suppressed, but soon enough he was laughing out loud, head thrown back.

John stared, hairs all over his body standing on end.

When Sherlock turned around to face him he laughed even louder, then calmed down a bit. "Ah, John. Yes. Yes, I wanted to become a doctor. Mycroft found it unsavoury, so I let it go. What do you think… was he right or wrong?"

He's mocking me. He is... What the hell? "Would you mind telling me what you find so funny right now?" John didn't completely manage to keep the anger he had to keep at bay all night out of his voice.

"No, no, not funny. I'm impressed."

"By what?"

Sherlock looked at him and shook his head slightly, still laughing under his breath. He spread his arms wide. "I haven't the faintest idea how to explain it to you."

"Then maybe you could explain to me what the hell you were doing down there, playing a piece of music that's about seven years old perfectly well with your father?"

John had Sherlock's full attention all of a sudden. He straightened up, his grey eyes were watching John carefully, the laughter was fading, only a sardonic smile remained. "Now I'm impressed by you, John. I thought you would catch that… but you even remembered the timeline correctly. Very impressive."

John swallowed hard. He wasn't sure how to address this, but quickly decided to plough ahead; he had to get to the true Sherlock, who no doubt was hidden somewhere under this stranger's mask. "Your father didn't stop, did he?" he asked softly. "He came back for you. He continued to… harass you. How the hell could Mycroft…"

Sherlock interrupted him. "Ah… no. I'm afraid we're back to your usual self again."

"What?"

"He did not come back to England. I went to New York."

John shook his head. He found it hard to breathe. "Wait… what?"

Sherlock watched him appraisingly; he looked very much like his father in that moment. "I visited my father in New York. Quite a few times, actually. Mycroft was never good at keeping me under surveillance… as you should know."

Somehow, John managed to gulp in some air. "What? Why would… oh, Jesus. What does he have on you? What? Did he threaten your mother?"

Sherlock made a disparagingly gesture. "No, no. He did not threaten anyone. I told you before, John, stop being dramatic. I contacted him, not the other way around."

"Why?"

Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock answered, "Because I wanted to, of course."

John backed off a step, and Sherlock began to smile. No. Nonono… stay put! Coming to a halt, John crossed his arms. "Stop that… that nonsense, Sherlock. I saw you, remember? I was there that night!" His voice became louder. "I found you and that bastard! And you, you phoned me, remember? You…"

"I did not phone you."

"Excuse me?"

"My father phoned you." Sherlock left his place at the end of the bed and went to the nightstand and his bag on it, rummaging around in it and putting the bed's width between them. "As I told you, he wanted to make a point." Huffing, he started to unpack. "Although I'll admit, you were there far quicker than he had thought."

John's heartbeat was thundering in his ears. "Bullshit! You… you said… you almost threw up! You said he kissed you and…"

"Yes. I wasn't keen on him kissing me, I give you that. But then, John," Sherlock looked up, straight into his eyes, "truly, I never am," he finished, smiling almost apologetically.

John felt sucker-punched, felt like he would go down any second now and stay down, so he took another step backwards, and that strange smile deepened. Nodding slightly, Sherlock got his mobile out of the pocket of his jacket and started typing. "Grab your bag and go downstairs. I'll make sure Mycroft's driver will be there in a minute to pick you up and get you back to London. Goodbye, John." He turned around and entered the adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind him silently.

***

John just stood there for a moment, totally numb, staring at the bathroom door. Then he shook his head, once, twice, to clear his mind, but it didn't work. His thoughts raced back to that night -God, only three days ago- trying to remember everything that had happened, everything he had seen, everything Sherlock had said, to find something to hold on to, something that proved that this wasn't true; couldn't be true. There was nothing to be found.

Feeling disturbed on a visceral level by the thought of an adult Sherlock… visiting his father, John took another step backwards and collided with one of the bookshelves. His gaze fell on his bag. Shoulders set, John went forwards, grabbed the handle and…

"No one stays. No one."

John closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then, he shook his head again; this time for other reasons. He was disgusted by his own stupidity. The whole evening, every one of his buttons had been pushed… by Mycroft, by Holmes, by Sherlock. And in the last few minutes, Sherlock hadn't pushed, no, he had swung a hammer at these buttons. Why? Undoubtedly, he was missing a giant piece of this puzzle and there was only one way to find out what it was. Shoving away any thoughts about what Sherlock had just told him, John grabbed his bag, walked over to the door noisily, opened the door without going through, turned off the lights and shut the door loudly. Then he tiptoed over to a dark corner, set his bag down silently and waited, arms crossed, for Sherlock to come out of the bathroom.

He didn't have to wait long.

First, John saw the sweeping lights of an arriving car moving over the ceiling, and in the next second, the bathroom door was opened. The lights in there were on, and John could see Sherlock's face perfectly well. John swallowed hard, his throat made a clicking noise, but Sherlock didn't notice him. He went straight to the window and looked down, apparently waiting for John leaving the house, getting into the car and driving back to London.

John took a deep, but silent breath and prepared himself to move quickly. Clearing his throat, he said, "I'm staying."

***

For as long as John had known him, Sherlock had never looked as shocked as he did in the second he saw him, and John couldn't even enjoy it. He had been right about Sherlock's reaction, though, and as he sprinted after Sherlock to reach him before he could lock himself into the bathroom, John was strangely relieved about getting at least that right.

He reached the door in the last moment and threw his whole weight against it, making Sherlock stumble back against the opposite wall covered with pristine white tiles, almost losing his footing between toilet and tub. John closed the door behind him and took stock of his surroundings. White. Everywhere he looked, it was pearly-white. Floor, tub, toilet, shower stall, basin, walls, shelves… John paused and looked back at the basin. There was a package with razor blades, only noticeable because there was nothing else in the whole room that showed signs of habitation.

John's world came to a screeching halt. For a second, he could see all that white splattered with blood; he blinked a few times. He remembered Sherlock rummaging around in his bag and… Oh God. Jesus, Sherlock… John took two shaky steps toward Sherlock, who was still pressed against the wall and who looked at him as if he had never seen John before in his life; his pupils dilated despite the blinding bright light.

"Sherlock?"

"What time is it?"

"Sherlock…"

"The time?"

John could see the watch on Sherlock's left wrist, but Sherlock made no attempt to look at it so John glanced at his, trying to keep his eyes on Sherlock while doing so. "Just past eleven."

Sherlock nodded jerkily. "Thank you."

An inconceivable thought crossed John's mind; his stomach cramped immediately. "You've got plans for tonight?" he asked cautiously.

Sherlock just stood there, eyes half closed now, as if he hadn't heard John's question. But then, his gaze flitted to the basin. "I'm not going anywhere."

Right. With one quick motion, John grabbed the box and threw it into the open toilet. His hand reached for the flush button, but Sherlock tried to hinder him. In the end, he had to clasp both of Sherlock's wrists in one hand and shove him back against the wall to be able to flush that goddamned thing out of Sherlock's reach. The moment the toilet gurgled, all fight seemed to leave Sherlock; he slowly slid down until he sat on the marble floor, looking to John as if he was fifteen years old. Again, John blinked rapidly. The situation was bad enough, he had to try and keep a clear head. Yeah, sure. This is a nightmare, a fucking nightmare.

"I have to get ready now."

Icy fingers slithered down John's back. As it had happened three nights ago, Sherlock's voice sounded an octave higher than usual, but this time, it was worse. John was absolutely sure that Sherlock didn't even know John was there, standing right in front of him, let alone know who John was. From a doctor's perspective, John recognised what was happening; Sherlock was showing signs of a beginning dissociation. He had to think quickly because Sherlock was already trying to get back on his feet. A bit panicky, John did the one thing he could think of -far from professional, but whatever!- and took hold of Sherlock's shoulders while Sherlock was still crouching and started to shake him.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, look at me. Look at me!"

No response. Sherlock just tried to get away from him, acting as if John were some kind of rosebush on which Sherlock's clothes got stuck on. He might be in the mind-set of a child, but he was as strong as a man. John didn't want to restrain him more than he already had so he let him get back on his feet. Plan B. Quickly, John went to the door, locked it and pulled out the key, letting it vanish inside his trouser pockets. When he turned around, Sherlock was right behind him; John flinched and expected some sort of assault, but Sherlock just rattled at the door, looking confused. John watched him, feeling utterly helpless. This is worse than… anything.

"Sherlock," he repeated quietly. "Hey…"

Again, Sherlock didn't acknowledge him. He pulled once more at the door handle, shrugged, and then he returned to the point where he had come from, opened the tap and started to draw a bath. John followed him. There was a seemingly endless repetition of turning the tap off and on, then Sherlock went back to the door, John again on his heels. By now, John regretted not having his doctor's bag with him. He had smelling salts in there and that was the one thing he remembered that could be of any use in this situation besides heavy sedation.

John let Sherlock rattle at the door and slipped his hand in Sherlock's jacket to get the phone out. He looked at it for a few seconds then put it in his inner jacket pocket; he didn't want to phone Mycroft. Yet. While he trotted after Sherlock once again in the direction of the tub, John wondered how long he could delay contacting Mycroft; a dissociative state could last for hours.

After a few more rounds, though, Sherlock came to a halt in the middle of the bathroom. In the last minutes, he had become increasingly agitated by John acting as an obstacle no matter what Sherlock tried to do. His eyes met John's briefly; they still looked confused, but also a bit annoyed, and John risked it. "Sherlock!" he said loudly, "Snap out of it, would you?"

Sherlock blinked a few times, and John took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for whatever would happen next, but then Sherlock turned around and went back to the bathtub. John closed his eyes. Please, god. After another breath, he squared his shoulders and turned, too, only to stop when he saw Sherlock sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, head down, hands ripping on his hair; the posture was familiar. John was beside him in a heartbeat, hands circling Sherlock's wrists carefully. "Don't."

"Go away, John. Lord, just leave. Please, leave." John could barely understand him.

"No. I'm not going anywhere." Firm voice, good. "Sherlock, look at me."

Sherlock's body tensed up even more, but at least John got a good hold on his hands; he pulled them close and started to rub his thumbs slowly over the white knuckles. "Sherlock."

"Didn't you lis… you don't understand."

John swallowed. "I listened. And it's true; I don't understand quite a few things. But then, I don't have to. I don't have to understand to stay." The hands John were holding trembled, no, Sherlock's whole body trembled, badly, and Sherlock murmured something in such a low voice that John had no chance of understanding. He knew, though, that every word counted now, so he moved closer, so close his nose touched the dark curls. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

A muffled sound, then, "I don't… I've done so many… you can't stay. After… you… why?"

Jesus. "None of this is your fault. You don't…" John broke off when Sherlock raised his head all of a sudden. His face was pale and there were traces of tears on both cheeks; while John was watching, another tear fell. Sherlock didn't seem to notice, and John's chest started to feel impossibly tight.

"It is my fault! He came here because I…" He tried to bow his head again but John didn't let him. He let go of the hands and enfolded Sherlock's face, his fingers wiping away tears.

"Because you stopped going to see him." Sherlock closed his eyes, and John felt his own beginning to burn. He wanted to ask why and when but didn't. He knew the answers anyway. "Come here."

Sherlock opened his eyes again; he looked shell-shocked, and John shook his head. "You don't understand either, do you?" He paused for a moment before continuing, reassessing his next words, finding them truthful. "It does not change anything, Sherlock. Not between us. It's not… ah, god." He reached out and gathered Sherlock close, rearranging them until his back leaned against the tub and he could embrace Sherlock properly; then John held on tight, waiting for the storm to pass.

***

Left cheek resting on the dark hair, John felt dead tired. Sherlock's body had become heavier in the last minutes. John would have thought him asleep, but he could feel Sherlock's eyelashes moving against his shirt.

"You were right before. I don't understand you. I thought I… I don't." Calm voice, but Sherlock didn't make any attempt of moving away; his head was still resting against John's chest.

"I'm not that difficult to understand. I'm just…"

"Stop it. It's not true. I… how can you…?" Sherlock tampered off, body tensing.

"Hm?"

"You know."

John blinked a few times, trying to shake off exhaustion. "I'm not sure that I know. That's the thing, Sherlock. You… we have to learn to talk to each other. Somehow. Lies aren't…"

"I did not lie."

John sighed. "If you tell me something that you know I will misunderstand, if you lead me on, that's pretty close to lying in my book. I'm not you, Sherlock. I can't deduce everything, and, to be honest, with this, with what happened to you, I wouldn't even try if I could." Sherlock's body had turned to lead in his arms, so John sighed again. "I'm not saying you have to tell me everything. But I'd prefer an 'I don't want to talk about it' over the way you… well, you know."

Silence for a moment, then, "I did lie."

"Yes, I know."

After that, Sherlock sat up to stare at him, and John tried not to wince when he saw Sherlock's face. "You know? What do you…?"

"I doubt you can fake to like kissing me." John said and then held his breath. He didn't have to worry for long because a decidedly weird smile appeared on Sherlock's face, in stark contrast to his puffy eyes. Shaking his head, Sherlock huffed. "I can't believe it. You…" he huffed again.

John smiled back at him and let his head thump against the rim of the tub. With his eyes closed, he thought of razor blades and Richard Holmes, who was no doubt somewhere in this fucking house waiting for his son, and then looked up again at Sherlock. He's dead on his feet, and so are you. Let it go… for now. "Let's get some sleep, huh? And then we'll get the hell out of here, before dawn tomorrow. You can tell your mother later I became ill or something." John saw Sherlock's eyes flicker and put his foot down at once. "She is a grown woman, Sherlock. I won't stand aside and watch you sacrifice yourself over…"

"I won't…"

"Let Mycroft handle this!"

"You saw tonight why Mycroft has a bit of a problem right now."

"Special friend, hm? Your father saved his father's life, didn't he?"

"Twice."

"Right. I'll bet you, though, the moment Mycroft is sober and back in London, he will regroup. And so will we." John scrambled to his feet, stretched and reached out for Sherlock's hand. "Come on."

Sherlock didn't move. He averted his eyes, swallowed, then looked up at John. "I can't sleep in that bed."

Sheer hate sizzled up on John's spine; he stomped on it. "How about the floor? Thick rug, we can throw pillows and… You know what? We can leave now. I swear I'll get Mycroft out of bed, even if I have to…" John broke off when he noticed that Sherlock's face became white again. "What is it?" He saw Sherlock glancing at his watch and snarled immediately, "Where is he? Tell me where he is and I…"

"I don't… want to talk about it." Uneasy glance, but stubborn jaw-line.

Stalemate.

"All right. We'll just leave then, and I won't look for…"

"No! Mycroft doesn't know a thing about… I can't. I can't."

"I won't tell him! And I really doubt your father would…"

"I can't!" Sherlock sounded desperate, and John finally came out of his haze of hate. Before he could say anything, though, Sherlock continued, spitting out every word between clenched teeth. "Things have changed, John. For the worse. He is back for good. He told me. And that means… it means there is something happening I don't know about. I know him. I know how he acts when he's…" Sherlock sighed, "… when he has an advantage over me, over Mycroft. And I haven't the faintest idea what he's planning. I know him, but I can't read him. I never could." He sounded defeated.

Since Sherlock made no attempt to stand up, John crouched down again in front of him, taking his hands. "And still, he is in for a disappointment right now, isn't he?"

Sherlock's Adam's apple bobbed twice. "That makes him even more dangerous. John, you… I think right now he can't read you. But… I watched him tonight. His eyes barely left you. He's learning, and he's learning quickly. He will find a way to get to you and…"

John interrupted him, not able to stand the increasingly frantic sounding voice or the painting of Richard Holmes as scarier as the devil himself. "Oh, he already managed that. He gets to me, all right. But this doesn't mean the same to me as it means to you, do you understand that? I am not afraid of him, Sherlock. I never will be. I'm afraid for you."

"I wouldn't have…"

"No more lies, remember?"

Silence again. John could see that he still hadn't got through to Sherlock, not completely, but then, he hadn't thought he would. Time. It will take time. He stroked over Sherlock's hair and cheek once, and then stood up again. "Do you want to stay in here? I'm sure we can manage to get comfortable."

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "No. It's too cold… the rug outside is… you know you should sleep in the bed. It's…"

"Yes, because I want to sleep in that bed. Jesus. We'll manage." This time, Sherlock took John's hand and stood up and promptly wobbled a bit. John laid his arm around Sherlock's waist to steady him, unlocking the door and leading him into the bedroom. There, after a quick glance out of the window, he made Sherlock sit in one of the chairs and handed him his phone. "The driver's still down there. Please text him to get some sleep and be ready at six o'clock in the morning, would you?"

While Sherlock was typing, John took hold of the blankets, pillows and the duvet and threw all of it into the corner furthest from the bed. He arranged some kind of improvised camp -thankfully, the rug was very thick, it would feel like sleeping on a futon- then threw a look at Sherlock and found him staring at the door. John bared his teeth. God, he wanted out of that house, away from here, he wanted them to be at home, preferably in his bed, gun on the nightstand. "Is there a key for that door?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just shook his head.

Of course there isn't. Although John knew the bastard wouldn't show up, he still heaved the other chair in front of the door to make sure Sherlock got at least some peace tonight.

The second they were lying down, Sherlock was out like a light. John wasn't even sure if he had been aware of the settling down process the way he had allowed himself to be led by John, until he could finally clamp his arms around John's waist; that had been the last moment Sherlock had moved at all. John rearranged the pillow behind his head. His eyes were wide open. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep. Gaze fixed on the wall clock he watched the seconds tick by, thoughts chasing themselves in his mind. Snatches of words and half-sentences, not only of this night, but also of the last two years, the day they first met, Sherlock's face, Sherlock's habits. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock. So many things made sense now.

John blinked, shuffled down and nosed through the dark curls a bit. Then he started waiting for the morning to arrive.

***

Keeping a tight hold on Sherlock's hand, John opened the door to Mycroft's room silently, turned on the lights, made Sherlock sit on a nearby chair, bags at his feet, and went over to the lump visibly under the bedspread. Without hesitation, he pulled off the blankets and hissed, "Wake up, Mycroft! Get up! Now!" Mycroft just grunted something unintelligibly and buried his face even deeper into the pillow. Under normal circumstances John would have been amused to see the undeniable similarity to Sherlock's behaviour, but he was so far from being amused that he couldn't even muster a tiny smile. "Mycroft! WAKE UP!"

All of a sudden, Mycroft jumped up so quickly that John took a step backwards to avoid colliding with him. No doubt, Mycroft wasn't amused, either. He should have looked ridiculous in his pyjamas, hair going in all directions and with his bloodshot eyes, but he did not. The look in those eyes were terrifying for a second, but the moment Mycroft recognised who was standing before him his expression became confused. "John? What…?"

"Start packing," John growled. "We're leaving, the car's waiting."

Mycroft's mouth opened, but then he stared over John's shoulder at his brother. John turned and saw what he had seen since they had woken up this morning; Sherlock's head was bowed, but he couldn't hide either the puffy eyes or the swollen face. He hadn't looked John in the eyes once in the last hour.

"What happened?"

"What… WHAT HAPPENED?" John yelled, then lowered his voice when he saw Sherlock flinching. "What happened? This night happened, Mycroft! Your father happened!"

"What has he…?"

"We don't have time for this now. Start packing!" With that, John turned on his heels and entered the bathroom, throwing all the things he could find there in Mycroft's wash bag. Within minutes, they were ready to go. While Mycroft looked one last time around, John was -for the first time- glad the brothers weren't prone to talk… John doubted Sherlock was able to answer any questions for the next hours, especially not questions his brother was asking.

When John opened the door to the hallway, Mycroft said quietly, "Did you talk to our mother? Is she…?"

Again, John interrupted. "You can say your good-byes on the phone. We're leaving now."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and he came to a halt just outside his room. Although John knew it was completely against Mycroft's nature to accept any orders at all, he was all the same too close to losing his patience with him. He wanted out, wanted to make sure Sherlock was safe, and if he had to go through Mycroft to make this happen, he would. He didn't have to. Mycroft looked again at Sherlock, who had followed John unsolicited, moving like a puppet, and John could see that under Mycroft's bluster the man wasn't only confused, he had also become scared. Mycroft nodded shortly and, finally, they started moving.

They wandered through the dimly lit hallway, then downstairs, but before they reached the bottom, Sherlock froze. A second later, John knew why. There was light coming from the living room and a voice talking quietly. Holmes.

John laid his free hand on the small of Sherlock's back, feeling tremors, and then he slid his hand into Sherlock's cold hand, pulling slightly. "Come on," John said, far calmer than he felt, swallowing all reassurances he would have liked to add due to Mycroft's presence. Sherlock followed him. The absent expression in his eyes was gone, though; he looked terrified. Thankfully, Mycroft seemed to have caught up with the situation; he moved quickly forwards, putting himself between the open door to the living room and his brother. They passed the door without incident, but John had to look, he had to. And he looked straight into Richard Holmes' eyes, saw him putting down the receiver of the phone. Then they were past the door, and John stood still, making the other men turn towards him, one with narrowed, one with wide eyes. John handed Mycroft his bag.

"Take Sherlock to the car and wait for me. Oh, while you're at it, grab my parka, please?"

Sherlock's hand shot out, quick as a snake, and clutched John's arm. "No! No, don't…"

"Don't worry, all right? I won't do anything rash, believe me. I will just… get your violin. That's all."

"John…"

"Mycroft, please."

Mycroft nodded and started pulling on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock moved with him, slowly, dragging his feet; his eyes flickered strangely.

John smiled reassuringly at him, and then he swallowed. He could hear an echo of Mycroft's voice in his ears.

'… I looked around for Sherlock and found him in a corner, staring at our father. I grabbed him and dragged him downstairs...'

It would be different this time. John turned on his heels and entered the living room.

***

Richard Holmes sat on an armchair beside an ornate davenport. Only his eyes moved and followed John striding through the large room to the piano. John made sure the case was locked before taking hold of the handle and lifting it off the shining black wood. His neck prickled slightly; he could feel the bastard's stare. John turned. Holmes' face had been in the shadows before, but now John had a clear view of his face.

The masks had fallen.

"You are losing."

John looked at the ceiling for a minute; when he lowered his head again, he smiled. Acknowledging Holmes' words with a nod, John went to the door and turned one last time on the threshold. "I will put you down."

He left then, through the hall and the entrance door, taking a seat in the car and taking hold of Sherlock's hand simultaneously. When the car started moving, John threw a last glance at The House.

Manderley.

Sherlock Fic: Ashes to Ashes - Masterpost

silkmoth101 — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 18:52:34 GMT

Title: Ashes to Ashes
Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Summary: John gets to know Sherlock's father.

Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: R
Wordcount: 16,800
Genres: Slash, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: Violence, Sexual Abuse of a Child (in the past, mentioned)
Spoiler: No Spoilers; set about two years after Series One, probably made AU by Series Two
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC and Gatiss/Moffat; I'm making no money, this is just for fun.

Author's Notes: Trigger warning for discussions about sexual abuse of a child and dealing with the aftermath.

A HUGE thank you to my awesome beta accioslash, to mialoco and heavenlyxbodies for cheering me on, to my sister H. for making fun of me and to my BIL H. for discovering the perfect version of Bach's Ave Maria (and for being the only sane person in this family). The biggest thanks to my sister E. though, for spending I don't even know how many hours on the phone with me laughing, discussing, fighting, and swooning. This story wouldn't exist without her input.

Ashes to Ashes

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Or you can read it on AO3

HERE

Sherlock Fic: Ashes to Ashes - Part Three

silkmoth101 — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 18:43:26 GMT

Please take a look at the warnings and notes in the MASTERPOST.

Part One

Part Two

Mycroft paused again, and John swallowed hard. He didn't want to hear it, neither here in Mycroft's car nor elsewhere. The atmosphere was oppressive enough even without the horror Mycroft was conjuring. It was almost dark outside, and the light of the nearest street lamp could not pierce through the shadows in the car; it only made the breath-clouded windows more opaque. For quite some time now John had been unable to see either the trees of Regent's Park nor Mycroft's driver who stood somewhere outside, shielded from the heavy rain only by a far too small umbrella.

Mycroft breathed in. "He stood with his back to me; he didn't hear me. But Sherlock, he… he opened his eyes and looked straight at me. He was on his knees and…" Mycroft broke off again, and John bit down on nothing so hard his teeth ached; he badly wanted to follow Mycroft's earlier example, leave the car and puke his guts out in the bushes. This was worse than he had thought and it was even more horrible after…

"That is why he noticed me. Because Sherlock looked at me. I was right beside them when they parted. I shoved him back so hard he fell on the escritoire." Mycroft closed his eyes. "Only later on did I remember how badly Sherlock had flinched; like he believed I would hit him."

"Mycroft…"

Mycroft raised a hand. "Let me finish this, please. I should have taken Sherlock out of that room immediately. But again, I failed him. I wanted nothing more than… I don't know. And our father, he was… annoyed. Not scared or ashamed or even angry, no, he was annoyed. Like I had caught him with a pornographic magazine in his hand and not with his son on his knees in front of him!" Mycroft took another deep breath. "He actually told me to leave them. I… railed at him, called him every name in the book. He hit me with the back of his hand. To be honest, I don't remember everything that happened afterwards. After he slapped me, I must have gotten hold of his letter opener. Next thing I do remember is that there was blood everywhere; on my father, the floor, me… he was screaming. He was pressing a hand on the wound and it bled so heavily I was sure I'd hit an artery, sure I'd killed him. The butler came running and Father yelled at him to call an ambulance and that was when I pulled myself together. I looked around for Sherlock and found him in a corner, staring at our father. I grabbed him and dragged him downstairs; there I got the keys to Father's Land Rover. I was close to London when I noticed I left my own car behind."

Mycroft stopped speaking; after a while, John asked, "And then, what?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happened afterwards? With Sherlock, with your father?"

"I phoned him. One week after he was released from the hospital, he did what I told him to; he left the country."

"Wait a moment, what? What?"

Mycroft flinched, but he did not look up and he did not answer.

"You didn't report him? No police, no court case, no anything?"

"I made sure… he didn't… I kept him under surveillance." John gritted his teeth but before he could say anything, Mycroft continued. "After a few years, I was sure he was solely fixated on Sherlock. After all, he was fifteen years old when…"

Harshly, John interrupted him. "And what about Sherlock? How must he have felt when…?"

"He was the one who asked me not to, who begged me not to!" Mycroft barked.

"He was a boy!"

"He was fifteen years old!"

John looked at him for a second, then he tried to open the door; Mycroft stopped him. "I am sorry, John. I am. I know that I did the wrong thing. This isn't… I didn't know what to do. I was unable to cope with the situation, with Sherlock. I told you before, I couldn't reach him. I tried to help him by doing what he wanted. Believe me, I know I failed again."

John shook his head, trying to clear it. He was so angry he could barely see straight but he knew he was angry about the wrong person. Sherlock had been a boy, but Mycroft had not been much more than a boy either. "What about your mother?"

Mycroft crossed his arms. "Our mother had nothing to do with this."

"Excuse me?"

"She wasn't there when it happened and she doesn't know anything about it. It's the one point where we both, Sherlock and I, are in agreement. She is a frail woman, in body and mind. She would not be able to understand this; I doubt she would survive it."

John stared. It was absolutely clear that Mycroft was serious, and still, John could not believe it. "And what did you tell her when her husband…" He was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Irritated, he got it out of his pocket to turn it off but then he saw who was phoning. "Sherlock? Is everything all right?"

For a moment, there was nothing but a jumble of sounds. Then, a bit muffled, he heard someone talking but it wasn't Sherlock. In the next moment, John was out of the car and running. Behind him, he could hear Mycroft calling out for him; he did not look back.

***

He was already racing upstairs, with no clear memory how he had gotten there or how much time had passed. He remembered falling down on the slippery streets at least once; his hands were skinned, he was dirty and soaked. Not stopping to check if it was locked, he kicked in the door to their flat. The living room was dark and the shadows were playing tricks on him because for a moment he could see not two men but a man and a child by the fireplace but even that did not stop him. He knew exactly where the bastard was standing – turning, surprised, hands falling off his prey.

Moving forward quickly, he hauled him away, far away, until they both crashed against the cabinet beside the window. The fan went flying, and he heard glass breaking. His left hand clawed at the other's throat. He pinned him sideward onto the wall; the angle was not perfect but it didn't matter. Blocking blows easily with his right arm, he started to smile; the other man was already choking. His fingers dug deeper into his neck.

Then he heard movement behind him; he turned slightly and Holmes threw him off. He felt a punch to the stomach and he tumbled to the right side and fell against the desk. The drawers burst open, one fell to the floor, the other was hanging precariously at the edge. The next blow almost brought him to his knees, but instead of hanging on to the unsteady desk he turned and grabbed the other man's waist. Both of them went down, and he managed to land on top. Immediately, his hands closed around the thin neck again. The lights went on and he heard voices yelling but he could not make out words; the roaring in his ears and the gasps of the man beneath him were far too loud. And still, the sudden brightness distracted him and Holmes managed to land another blow, this time directly on his face. For a moment, he saw black spots dancing before his eyes and his grip loosened; Holmes wiggled out and away from under him.

He made it back on his feet at the same time the other man did; Holmes was right in front of him, hand on his throat and a murderous look in his eyes. He started to strike out at him again but his movement was hindered; hands were clasping his arms, drawing him backwards. He struggled against them but before he could lash out at whoever was behind him he saw Holmes turn his head and looking at… The grip on his arms slackened and he acted immediately. He grabbed the gun from the open drawer and aimed. Holmes froze.

"JOHN, NO!"

He pulled the trigger, but his arm was shoved to the side. The shot went wild; something on the kitchen table fell down and shattered.

***

For a moment, no one moved. Then Holmes whirled around and ran out of the flat, passing a white-faced Mrs Hudson who had pressed both hands against her mouth and was staring at John. Someone tugged at the gun in John's hand; he blinked a few times and saw Mycroft at his side. He let go of the gun and watched as Mycroft unloaded it then threw it on the chair closest to them. John could not move, not think; he felt numb all over. Mycroft grabbed him by the shoulders and said something but he didn't understand what. He heard a whimpering sound coming from Mrs Hudson; Mycroft released him and strode over to her, guiding her away from the threshold into the hall and then it hit him. Sherlock! Oh Christ!

John stumbled the few steps over to the fireplace where Sherlock was sitting, falling down on his knees beside him. Sherlock didn't react at all to his presence; he was huddling there and staring straight ahead with unblinking eyes. Carefully, John looked him over, not daring to touch yet. He was wearing his dressing gown; it was obvious he had taken a shower, his hair was still damp. The collar of the gown was ripped, and Sherlock's lips… John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could not afford to lose it again, not now. Still, his mind shied away from what must have happened here while Sherlock had been alone with his father. At least –and god, right now he was thankful for even the smallest favours- Sherlock was wearing his pyjama bottoms. No t-shirt, no slippers, though, and he must be cold and there were shards in the kitchen and… John bit hard on his own lips and tried to rein his brain in.

"Sherlock?" he asked quietly.

No answer. Behind him, John could hear Mrs Hudson saying, "But he told me he's his father!" and Mycroft's clipped response, "He is our father," but Sherlock remained silent.

"Sherlock?" John asked again, laying a hand cautiously on Sherlock's arm.

Jerkily, Sherlock turned his head and looked at John. "He kissed me. I begged him not to," he stated, almost casually. John's stomach did a slow roll but before he could say something, Sherlock turned completely away from him, got on his knees and started retching.

John leaned forward immediately; he put one hand on Sherlock's forehead, the other on his stomach. He could feel muscles rippling under his hand, stomach heaving. Sherlock did not vomit but continued with the horrible retching.

"Hey. Try to breathe, okay?" John gritted his teeth again; he knew how inadequate his words were but he could not think of something more helpful right now.

"I'll call an ambulance."

Sherlock flinched. John turned his head slightly and looked up at Mycroft who stood behind them, mobile in hand, eyes dark and face white. "No, don't do that."

"John, we have to…"

With all his might, John tried to keep his voice calm. "I don't think he's physically hurt. If I'm wrong I'll make sure he gets help. But what Sherlock doesn't need right now is to deal with a hospital full of strangers."

"This is not for you to decide," Mycroft hissed and started dialling. Without really thinking about it, John let go of Sherlock, straightened up and took the phone right out of Mycroft's hand, closing it.

"Neither is it your decision."

That brought back quite a bit colour to Mycroft's face, and John felt his own temper rising. He stamped down on it; the last thing he needed now was a fight with Sherlock's brother about who was in charge here. Before Mycroft could do so much as open his mouth, John threw the phone on the chair where his gun was, then turned back to Sherlock. Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to have heeded John's advice and started breathing, calming down physically, at least. He was already trying to get back on his feet, so John rose too, reaching out. Sherlock took John's arm and while he did not look at John, he didn't release his arm, either.

"Sherlock, I'll take you home with me. We should…"

Sherlock interrupted him. "Go away, Mycroft," he said as he turned on his heel and went through the kitchen towards his bedroom, sidestepping the shards on the floor.

Hesitantly, John glanced at Mycroft and averted his eyes at once. Mycroft looked… lost. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, John murmured, "I'm sure he didn't mean it; he is…"

"Spare me," Mycroft stated, expression blank. He picked up his phone and left.

Right. Shoving aside any thoughts about Mycroft, John looked at the glimmer of light shining out of Sherlock's bedroom. He left the door ajar. Wavering for a few seconds, John finally followed him. If he does not want company, I will just sit in front of his door. For the rest of the night.

On his way, John passed the refrigerator and had to stop for a moment. Christ. Just an hour ago… He closed his eyes and shook his head once. So not the time to think about that. He moved on.

Pausing again on the threshold, John just looked at Sherlock. Pyjama jacket on, gown thrown into a corner, he sat on the edge of his bed, head down, elbows on his knees. John knocked against the doorframe. "May I come in?"

Without glancing up, Sherlock nodded.

John entered slowly, wondering what he should do; standing awkwardly somewhere in the room or sitting down beside Sherlock on the bed, just as awkwardly. Finally, he just crouched down in front of him. "How are you doing?"

"Supremely fine."

"Yes, sorry. Stupid question."

When Sherlock didn't answer, John lowered his head even further, trying to catch Sherlock's eyes, to no avail. Sitting back onto his heels, John tried to relax a bit. Curiously enough, he found himself at peace with being silent and close to Sherlock; any questions he might have wanted to ask could wait.

Eventually, Sherlock looked up, a highly guarded expression on his face. "Just say it."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Say it. Tell me I should have fought back, knocked him out. After all, he shouldn't be a match for me."

John was dumbstruck; the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. While he was groping for words, he saw Sherlock blinking once. Undoubtedly, Sherlock had no trouble reading John's thoughts but –just as undoubtedly- was very confused about what he saw… or about what he did not see.

Softly, John said, "Sherlock, you were conditioned to not fight back."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "What did Mycroft tell you?"

"Not much. Enough. Well, let's say I've heard more than enough from Mycroft."

"Do not blame him for anything that happened."

John sighed. "I don't. Your father's to blame. But I do not agree with Mycroft on many things; I try to keep in mind though that he was only 22 then." He gnawed on his lower lip slightly. "What happened here? I mean… how did he get in here?"

"Mrs Hudson." Sherlock swallowed; John could see his Adam's apple bobbing. "When I came out from the bathroom he was in the living room, waiting for me."

"Sherlock… level with me, please? How are you? Did he… are you hurt?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. No. I… actually I am not sure I can remember everything. But he didn't have time to… You were here very quickly." He took a shaky breath. "I think he wanted to make a point. He did."

John laid a hand over Sherlock's that were once again tightly clasped. "Excuse me for a second, will you?" He tried to stand up but was hindered by Sherlock.

"John, don't. You won't need it."

Grimacing, John shook his head. "You don't know that."

"He won't come back. John, you almost shot him tonight."

"I wish I had." It wasn't lip service; John wanted to kill him… but he also wanted things to be that easy. He knew they weren't. "Anyway, I think you are right. But just in case you're not… I do not want to be sorry about this later. I'll be back in a moment."

John went back into the living room and picked up his gun. While he was reloading it, he made a mental note to phone a locksmith the next day; he wanted every lock in their flat changed. A carpenter, too; one door is kicked in. He shoved the gun into his waistband and turned around to lock the doors he still could. Almost jumping out of his skin, John found himself face to face with Sherlock. Dammit, how does he do that? Then he noticed the pillow under Sherlock's left arm.

"We're sleeping upstairs."

"… Are you sure? My bed isn't exactly big."

"I know."

***

John closed the door and locked it, then leaned back against it for a moment, keeping a close eye on Sherlock who was just inspecting the window locks. So much for 'He won't come back', John thought. He didn't really worry about Holmes returning –Sherlock had been right, the fact that he had actually pulled the trigger had shocked everyone present- but still, their home had been violated. John doubted he would get any sleep tonight no matter how tired he was. With a sigh, he straightened up and grimaced; god, his whole body hurt from the blows he had taken, not to mention his falling down on the streets.

"Your clothes are completely soaked."

Sighing, John looked up at Sherlock and stated the obvious. "Yes. It's raining."

Sherlock didn't react. "You have to take them off."

Frowning, John debated asking Sherlock again if he was all right, then decided against it. No reason to ask; he is not. He just nodded and started to shrug off his jacket when his wrists were suddenly seized. "Why didn't you tell me you are hurt?"

"This is minor, only a few scrapes and… Sherlock!"

Too late. Before John was able to realise what was happening, the door was already open and Sherlock running downstairs. Alarmed, John followed him only to stop after taking a few steps; he could hear Sherlock rummaging around in the bathroom. He threw a glance at his doctor's bag sitting in the corner, then sighed again. Not good. Not good at all. Leaving the door wide open, he removed the jacket, tie and shirt, keeping only his t-shirt on, then slipped out of his shoes and the equally sodden socks. When he started on his belt, Sherlock blew back into the room, towels over his shoulder, in one hand a bowl with water, in the other hand various… things, including for some strange reason a box with suppositories against fever.

"Where is your bag?" Sherlock asked, looking harassed.

Pointing at the corner and stepping out of the cord trousers that were clearly bound for the rubbish bin, John saw Sherlock blushing. This would have normally been a welcome opportunity for a jibe but now it was painful to watch and highlighting everything that wasn't right. John had to hand it to Sherlock, though; he only gritted his teeth momentarily, then put the bowl on the floor beside the bed, grabbed the bag, threw it on the mattress and ripped it open. John thought about giving advice but let it go and put his pyjama bottoms on instead. In the next moment he was hauled over to the bed; he sat down on it and in a strange repetition of their former positions in Sherlock's bedroom, Sherlock crouched down in front of him, clutching John's wrists again for closer inspection. Then the bottle with hydrogen peroxide landed beside him, and it was raining cotton balls.

"Sherlock, cotton balls aren't…"

"Yes, I know!" Sherlock was back at digging around in the bag until he finally re-emerged, in his hand packages of sterile bandages that he ripped open with his teeth. John kept his silence; he was deeply worried, Sherlock looked more than crazed. John also said nothing when Sherlock cleaned the wounds… it hurt like hell, especially because Sherlock was moving far too quickly and roughly. John recognised the signs; something bad was coming, was waiting to explode, and he tried once again to gather his wits together, blocking out the threatening feelings of exhaustion.

Finally finished with the hands, Sherlock looked up at John out of dark eyes, then all of a sudden he took hold of John's face, turning it slightly. He hissed in a breath, and John cursed under his breath. He had all but forgotten that Holmes had landed a blow on his face. Again, he tried. "Don't fret, it doesn't even hurt. He hadn't…" Just as suddenly, Sherlock released him, stood up and backed away until his backside collided with John's small desk. In an awfully high voice, Sherlock whispered, "He's right. He's right."

Hair standing up on end, John got up quickly. "Whatever you think he is right about, he is not."

Sherlock didn't seem to hear him; he kept whispering, too silently for John to understand.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!"

Looking John over from head to toe Sherlock finally stated -thankfully in his normal voice-, "This will not work." He huffed. "What am I saying? There was never anything happening that could work."

"We already had this conversation."

"No, we did not."

"Yes, we did."

"No, we… "

"What did your father say to you?"

Paler than ever, Sherlock shook his head and retreated further, almost bumping into the wall. "Nothing."

John followed him slowly; he didn't want to crowd Sherlock but he also couldn't stand the distance. "Sherlock," he said quietly, "talk to me. Talk to me, please."

"I must not," Sherlock said hoarsely, and then he stared at something behind John, eyes wide and filled with such horror that John whirled around, hand immediately reaching for the gun. Nothing. Nobody. John took a deep breath. When he turned back to Sherlock he found him sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, face buried in his hands. For a moment, John's mind went through all sedatives he had at hand but discarded the thought at once. He gently placed one hand on Sherlock's knee and murmured, "There is no one here."

"I know," the muffled reply came. "I'm losing my mind."

"No, you're not. You're in shock. I'll spare you the blanket." That earned John a slightly hysterical chuckle that ended in a sobbing sound. When Sherlock lowered his hands though, his eyes were dry but so desperate looking that John sat down on the floor beside Sherlock. "Hey."

"No one stays," Sherlock bit out, "No one. I never wanted them to stay. But now…" he bit on his lips. "I'm sorry. I sound like…"

"No, no, no," John interrupted him. Inwardly, he decided that a bullet would provide a far too quick death anyway; Holmes deserved someone who would take his time with him. "I won't leave. Sherlock, come on. You know me."

"But you didn't know that."

"It makes no difference…"

"Look at me!" Sherlock spread his arms as wide as possible. "I'm a mess!"

"Would you hear me out? It makes no difference to the way I feel about you. I do not think I'm in love, Sherlock. I am in love. I love you. And I don't love easily, so please do not talk about me leaving you!"

John could see that Sherlock was reeling; so was he. He had not intended to throw out declarations like that. Stupid! Stupid! Jesus Christ!

"I don't think I can do it. I don't know how to do it."

Swallowing hard, John asked, "What do you mean?"

Sherlock gestured towards the bed. "Relationships!"

"Look, sex isn't all that…"

"I'm not talking about sex!" Sherlock almost yelled, "I have no problems with sex!"

John had severe doubts about that but kept them under wraps. "What are you talking about then? Sherlock, I hate to break this to you but we are already in a relationship, have been for over two years, actually."

Sherlock made an impatient noise and John smiled a bit. "It is the truth. The one thing for you to decide is whether you want us to become closer or not."

Closing his eyes, Sherlock nodded slowly. "There is no way you could be too close to me." He opened his eyes again. "You scare me to death."

"Likewise," John croaked. He raised a hand to lay it on Sherlock's cheek; Sherlock immediately nestled against it. John's thumb carefully caressed the soft lips, almost not touching them. Grey eyes watched him closely, then Sherlock asked, "Would you?"

Instead of answering, John leaned forward and kissed him, lips moving slowly against each other. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around the lean waist and drew Sherlock into an embrace. Close like this, John could feel the faint tremors still running over the body in his arms but he also felt the moment when Sherlock ultimately relaxed. He nosed a bit through the dark locks and asked, "Bed?"

"In a moment?"

"All right," John answered, pressing another kiss on the soft cheek.

***

When they finally had settled down, Sherlock's head on John's chest, John stroked slowly through the curls and tried to suppress a yawn. The last hours, hell, the last days were catching up with him. His gaze swept over the loaded gun on the nightstand to the door.

"It's locked, John. Please do not develop an OCD."

John huffed. "I just went back there once."

"And you just thought about getting up again."

"Maybe." John's fingers combed back Sherlock's fringe then let it trickle down again. "May I ask you a question?"

"Mhm."

"Where do you think your father is right now?"

Sherlock's head pushed slightly against John's hand. Realising he had stopped, John continued the soft petting motion, very aware why he had stopped. He had –again- rocked the boat, despite not wanting to.

"Hmmm." John started breathing again; that was definitely Sherlock's analysing tone. "Probably at the airport, in the common waiting room. Business class. Mycroft would never look for him there."

"At the airport?"

"He is booked on the first flight to New York, tomorrow morning."

"He is?"

"Yes." Sherlock craned his head backwards to glance at John. "This isn't over yet, though. He will…"

"Oh, there you are right! This is so far from over, I can't even tell you."

One corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Stop that." His expression became serious again. "John, he will try to make your life hell, now more than before. Believe me he has his own connections, resources. You took… something away from him. Something that he thinks belongs to him. To say he won't like it would be an understatement and to think he will let it go would be a fatal mistake."

"My stance on that has not changed; I don't give a shit about him or about what he can do."

Sherlock kissed John's chin. "Thankfully, Mycroft isn't without connections, either."

"Can't we leave your brother out of this?"

"No, John. Unfortunately, we can't." Sherlock wriggled upwards and laid his head on John's pillow. "Do you think you can sleep?"

John shrugged. "I don't know."

"There's something else on your mind."

John didn't answer; Sherlock was right, of course, as usual. But the topic he was thinking about wasn't something he wanted to discuss right now. He just had to think about Mycroft's reaction to it to…

"It's about my mother, isn't it?"

"How…?"

"It's perfectly obvious. What do you want to know?"

"I cannot figure out your mother's part in this… I mean, how could she not know?" Sherlock sighed and John back-paddled immediately. "You don't have to…"

Sherlock interrupted him. "It's not that. It's just… I'm not sure how to explain the way my mother looks at the world. She is… eccentric. Always had been. So eccentric, my father was able to put her into a sanatorium without meeting any resistance. Mycroft brought her home after… after my father had left. To this day, she has been diagnosed with almost every mental disorder that exists," Sherlock sneered. "Utter idiots, all of them. Her behaviour… or her symptoms, if you like the word better, do not fit any of them."

"What symptoms?"

Sherlock made a pained noise. "She lives in her own world, John. Look, she never even realised my father had left for good. For the last twenty years, whenever I visited her and Mycroft, I had to listen to her explaining to me that my father was on vacation but would come back home soon."

"Jesus."

"Yes. I don't visit her very often."

Sherlock sounded guilt-ridden so John drew him closer, cursing himself for bringing this up in the first place. "If you ask me, it's understandable. It must be hard to hear that." John rubbed his hands in what he hoped was a soothing manner over Sherlock's back. "Sorry for prying."

"She still spends lots of time at the manor. Not right now, of course, it's too cold and too remote. But the moment Spring comes, she goes back there." Sherlock wriggled upwards until his head was resting beside John's on the pillow. Seemingly lost in thought, he stroked one finger over John's nose, over and over again. "I never went back to the house. Maybe I should have."

"Maybe."

Sherlock looked straight ahead for another moment, then he literally shook himself. "None of this is important, not now. You are important."

John smiled helplessly. "I am?"

"You always were."

***

"This couldn't have waited? It's eight o'clock in the morning and I just… - It is not for you to decide whether I stay in London or not! It is also my choice whom I take with me and whom I leave behind; as you know I have my own domestics. - Do not 'Mummy' me, young man! Now, I have already invited my friends for my birthday on Saturday, and I want to see both of my sons here as well. Promise you will prise Sherlock away from London? - Very well. - No, whatever it is, we can talk about it the day after tomorrow. Goodbye sweetheart."

Galiena Holmes put down the receiver and smiled at the man standing beside her. "Mycroft can be so difficult at times, Richard."

~*~

Sherlock Fic: Ashes to Ashes - Part Two

silkmoth101 — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 18:38:57 GMT

Please take a look at the warnings and notes in the MASTERPOST.

Part One

Over half an hour later, John arrived at Grange St Paul's, at the end of his tether. His cab had been caught up in a traffic jam, and John had been torn between trying to stay patient and jumping out of the car and running. In the end, he had stayed in the cab, telling himself over and over again that he wasn't on the trail of a killer, and that Sherlock was not in danger. Not in mortal danger.

John stormed through the glass entrance doors into the lobby and took a moment to orient himself. Thankfully, he didn't have to search for long; there were quite a few elegant and discreet signs, pointing to the meeting rooms of the congress. He turned to the right, took a few stairs at break-neck speed, and almost ran headfirst into one of the hotel security guards. Fishing the visitor pass out of his wallet, John waved it at the guy and, pocketing it again, continued on his way to the speaker room from where he could already hear Wentwall's booming voice. He passed the entrance to what looked like a bar, and then he stopped dead in his tracks and took a second glance. There he was.

Sherlock leaned with his back against the wall, arms crossed and an utterly curious expression on his face. For a moment, John thought the aggravating blue neon lights were playing tricks on him; he had never before seen Sherlock terrified of anything… or anyone. But that was what John saw, terror. Sherlock stared at a man standing in front of him, too close to him, right arm casually on the bar, effectively crowding Sherlock into a corner. Richard Holmes was a very lean and very tall man, even taller than Sherlock or Mycroft. It seemed to be a trademark of the Holmes family.

Hackles rising, John went forward.

The neon lights slowly changed colour until they became almost purple. Holmes raised his left hand with the tumbler in it. Sherlock looked up, away from his father and straight at John. His eyes widened. Holmes turned slowly, clearly following his son's gaze.

John almost froze in his tracks, almost. He had seen this look before on a hyena in Afghanistan. It had looked up from its prey with a blood-smeared snout, glancing at John almost calculating, as if wondering how close he would dare to come.

Holmes smiled, and for a moment the likeness became even more striking and then the image shattered. For once ignoring the man he loved, John placed himself right between the two of them, his back to Sherlock, so close to Holmes the tips of their shoes were touching. Holmes looked surprised for a second and retreated one step, only to come forward again immediately. His face hardened.

"Dr Watson, I presume?"

"I wasn't aware we've met before."

Holmes started to smile again. "Oh, I've heard so much about you I feel I know you already." He looked John over from head to toe, smile deepening. "I just wasn't expecting someone so… impressive." Looking over John's head at Sherlock, he continued, "Is that your idea of a joke? And there I was, thinking, well, at least he'd chosen a doctor. But seriously…" He got interrupted by John's forefinger stabbing him in the chest. All of a sudden, every trace of humour left his eyes. "Keep your hands to yourself, chap."

"It will be hard but I'll try. Keep your focus."

Holmes flushed with anger, and for the first time, John noticed a scar on the right side of his face; a thin white line, running down from the ear to the jawline.

"Is that so?" Holmes hissed, leaning forward, getting right into John's face. John wondered whether he would still do that if he knew how close he was to getting his nose punched in.

John straightened up even more, cocked his head to the side and smiled. They were now nose to nose, so close John could smell the expensive aftershave Holmes was wearing; he could have done without it. "That's so."

They stared at each other until Sherlock made a distressed sound; at once, Holmes' head whipped up again to look at his son. John cursed inwardly.

Holmes laughed softly at whatever he saw in Sherlock's face. "I thought I taught you better."

The tone was so ugly and vicious that John's mind took –again- a leap to something dark. He snapped. Muscles tensing, he moved forward, only to be stopped by two hands from behind that were drawing him back. John struggled for a minute but Sherlock turned him slightly and John saw Mycroft, accompanied by two other men, running towards them. He looked strangely like the griffin from John's dream.

Holmes turned around quickly, apparently forgetting about Sherlock and John. He looked like he was preparing himself for a fight, and John struggled some more. If there was going to be a fight, he wanted in on it. He opened his mouth to tell Sherlock but before he could draw a breath, Sherlock pushed and pulled him in the direction of the hall, passing Mycroft and his cronies, a haggard looking Anthea and hotel security guards, out into the lobby and then onto the street. Not pausing for a minute, Sherlock opened the door of the next cab in line, all but threw John into it, followed him inside and hissed "Baker Street!" at the driver, banging the door closed behind him.

***

"I do remember that day far too well. I was 21, already working for the government. I visited our home for only a few hours and left again. Then, I had a flat tyre only about two miles away, near the village. It was strange; the car was brand new. I went to the inn to phone the AA only to learn I had to wait for a few hours for someone to come out there. By chance, I saw one of our former maids, Rose. She was playing Billiards in the backroom and I… Again, I am sorry. I am procrastinating. Well, we started a conversation about how things were at home; at that time, only my father's old butler and a few workers had remained at the house. I noticed she was exchanging strange looks with the innkeeper and then, quite suddenly, she asked me about Sherlock. Before I could answer she started talking so quickly I could barely keep up with her. She told me about how our father treated my brother… about cruel punishments for minor pranks, like letting him stand in the corner for hours without end. She also talked about him regularly beating Sherlock. One part of me did not believe her. The other part… I can't really explain it. While I did not believe it, at the same time, I saw in her face other things, much, much worse things. I decided to go back. I left the car behind and went through the woods back to the house."

***

"I thought I taught you better."

John looked at Sherlock who was staring out of the cab's window and at Sherlock's left hand that was tightly clenched around the handhold. In John's mind, thoughts were tumbling around. In a way, the meeting with Sherlock's father had turned out as he had thought it would; Richard Holmes was impressive, good-looking, cold and an arrogant son of a bitch. But –and this was a big but- John had not expected the way Sherlock had looked and he had also not expected the… undertones in which Holmes had watched and spoken to his son. Just thinking about it made his flesh crawl.

John prayed they would reach Baker Street before Sherlock got a grip on himself and managed to shut down.

His wish was granted. The moment the cab stopped, Sherlock jumped out and rushed towards the door, John on his heels. He heard the cab driver behind him yelling, and without really stopping he shoved his wallet into the hands of a startled Mrs Hudson. "Take care of that for me, will you?" he bit out and stormed upstairs, not waiting for an answer. He piled into the living room and moved to the left, blocking Sherlock's means of escape. Sherlock had turned around and was close to him, looking more disturbed than John had ever seen him before. His gaze was flitting between John and the door to the stairs. John wondered if Sherlock would actually try and attack him and if it was really such a good idea to trap him right now; then he could see a familiar mask covering Sherlock's face. John drew his shoulders up and braced himself, just in time.

"Are you having fun, John?" Sherlock asked, cold as ice.

"Sherlock…"

"Oh you should see your face!" Sherlock barked out a laugh. "Full of sincerity and moral courage, as usual. Do you know how boring that is, how boring you are?" His voice became louder with every word. "A simpering idiot who thinks he's in love!"

"When did it start?"

Sherlock recoiled; he didn't even try to pretend that he hadn't understood. John swallowed; his heart was thundering in his ears. He took a step forward, and Sherlock backed off several paces until his legs bumped into the chair at the window. He barely managed to stay on his feet. John hesitated for a moment, then he quickly crossed the distance between them; scared and yet determined at the same time. Sherlock tried to get away from him, circling the chair.

"Leave me alone!"

John stopped immediately and raised both hands. "Sherlock, look, I'm…" All of a sudden, Sherlock lost his footing; he slipped and started to go down. Instinctively, John rushed forward and tried to break his fall. They both landed on the floor between chair and window. After a second of silence, John looked at Sherlock's face; all he could see were wide grey eyes. John got up on his knees and skidded backwards, only to be drawn back by Sherlock whose fingers were digging into John's arm. Flinching, he prepared himself for a slap at least, but when Sherlock did nothing beside stare at him, John tried again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, I…" He trailed off when Sherlock cocked his head to the side, a whole new expression in his eyes. Before John could do as much as blink, Sherlock released his arm; his hand travelled upwards and grasped John's neck. Then Sherlock drew him closer.

Soft, soft lips, barely there, gone and back again. John flailed a bit and made a surprised noise which sounded suspiciously like a moan. The tip of a tongue caressed his lips, and he gasped for breath. Sherlock raised his head for a moment, smiled at him and moved forward again, eyes darkening. Stunned but elated, John managed to return the embrace without embarrassing himself further.

From a distance, John heard the door open. "Dr Watson, here is your… oh dear!" The door closed again, and John ripped his mouth away. He tried to look over his shoulder but Sherlock shifted and the chair John was leaning on skittered away; John found himself lying flat on his back. "Wha… ?"

"You scared Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said above him, voice deeper than it ever had been before.

Stupidly, John stared up at him. He could not think. He had the feeling it would be important to think but… oh God, here he comes again. This time, Sherlock moved in far more confidently. His tongue slipped immediately between John's lips, seeking out his own. Behind closed lids, John saw sparkles flying about; breathing became an issue. He buried his hands deeply in the dark curls and tugged Sherlock's head slightly to the left to have better access to his mouth.

Sherlock froze. Only for a second but that was enough for John's brain to jumpstart; a bucket full of ice water poured out over his head could not have been more effective. John wriggled out from under Sherlock's body and scrambled away, backwards, as fast as he was able to. Sherlock was following him at once; a part of John's mind marvelled at the fact that both of them were heading for the sofa, on all fours.

"Oh, no, no, no, please don't!"

Reacting to the desperation in Sherlock's voice, John let Sherlock catch up with him but before he could pounce on him again, he laid a hand on Sherlock's chest. "Stop it. Sherlock, stop!"

"I don't want to!"

"But I do. I need to."

After he frowned at John for a few seconds, Sherlock averted his eyes and sat back, close to John but not touching him. A moment later he drew his knees up and buried his own hands in his hair, pulling on it mercilessly. John reached out, took hold of Sherlock's wrists and pulled on them a bit. "Sherlock, you're hurting yourself. Let go," he said, sounding surprisingly calm. Inwardly, he felt like he was standing in the middle of a minefield, with no idea what to do or how to get out.

Sherlock looked up, a defeated expression in his eyes, so John put his arms around him and held on.

***

"It was already dark when I got there. I went through the cellar so I could avoid Father's butler. The house sat silent. First, I thought everyone had already gone to bed. Then I heard something from upstairs. It was… Excuse me for a moment."

***

"You should not have followed me."

They were sitting on the floor, close to each other, leaning against the couch, table kicked to the middle of the room. John sighed and hung his head. "Well, you did your best to prevent it. Do I want to know what drug was in that tea?"

Sherlock remained silent.

"Tell me it wasn't Rohypnol."

No answer.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you know what… forget it." John tried to swallow the sudden ire without choking on it. It did not go down smoothly. "You couldn't have just told me not to come?"

Sherlock huffed. "As if you would have listened."

"So sure of that, are you?"

"I know you."

"Just your luck then that I know you, too."

Sherlock shook his head slowly, and John saw his Adam's apple bob twice. "He will come after you. You made it personal."

"I don't give a shit…"

"Because you don't know him!" Sherlock shouted. "I'll tell you something; soon enough, you won't have a job anymore!"

"Then I will look for another one."

Hands waving around, Sherlock turned towards John, totally agitated. "It is mind-boggling how slow you are! You won't get another one, not as a doctor! You…"

"Then I'll sell Fish and Chips on the street." Before Sherlock could explode for good, John continued, gently, "He's not my bogeyman, Sherlock. I am not scared of him."

Sherlock lowered his head, and John raised his hand to stroke through the dark curls and paused mid-air, self-consciously. That made Sherlock snap at once. "Stop being an idiot! I'm not some frightened spinster, you hear me?"

Baring his teeth, John said, "I never thought you were."

"Then stop treating me like one! That's exactly why I didn't want you to…" He bit off the rest and clenched his fists.

John completed his arrested movement, laid his hand on Sherlock's neck and carefully caressed the short locks. A tiny part inside him marvelled at the fact that he was actually allowed to do that now, to show his affection so casually. "You didn't want me to what?"

Sherlock sighed, sounding disgruntled. "What do you think? I didn't want you to know about…" He trailed off, turned his head slowly and pinned John with a piercing glance. "How did you know anyway? There is no way you could have hacked into Mycroft's twee files about me and this mess. So how?"

Twee files? Mess? Jesus. "Well, I… read your manual on being a Sociopath and…"

"It's not a manual!"

"Isn't it now?" When Sherlock didn't answer, John carried on. "There was something about… okay, that doesn't really matter. It was… the way your father… uh, looked at you. He looked like he… owns you. All of you."

"Oh, he does own me. He made sure that I won't forget it," Sherlock said in a neutral voice that made the fine hairs on John's neck rise.

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock remained silent, and John watched him apprehensively. When he opened his mouth to take the question back, Sherlock's expression became determined. He got up on his knees and stood up.

"Sherlock, what…?" John broke off when the other man started to open his trousers. He watched Sherlock, face drawn, pulling down the left side of the black suit trousers and rucking up the white shirt. There, high on his hipbone, was a crude cross, branded into the pale skin, so big that Sherlock's hand could not have covered it completely.

John sat very still. He tried desperately to keep his emotions under control, hiding them, but he knew it was in vain. Not even the thought that Sherlock would be able to read everything on his face enabled him to manage it; neither did the attempt to distance himself, to look at this mark from a doctor's perspective. He couldn't. He could not.

"How…?"

Sherlock interrupted him, still in that eerie voice. "A fire poker. On my thirteenth birthday." He closed his trousers again and stuck the shirt into them. "You want some tea?"

"What?"

"Tea," Sherlock repeated, striding toward the kitchen. "I'm making tea."

Oh God. John scrambled to his feet and followed Sherlock; he could not let this stand. The kettle Sherlock was just filling clanged and banged against the running tap erratically. "Please give that to me." Taking the kettle away, John noticed how mechanically Sherlock was moving. "Sit down for a moment, will you?" Sherlock obliged and John became even more worried. Laying one hand on Sherlock's shoulder, he leaned forward and tried to catch the grey eyes. "Listen to me. This bastard does not own you, you hear me?"

"John…"

"NO! He preyed on you, on body and mind, he manipulated you and he… abused you. As a child, you were in an impossible situation. But none of this means that he owns you. You're your own man!" Taken aback by his own vehemence, John glanced at Sherlock only to see myriad emotions flitting over his face, far too many to keep up with. Then, with a feeling of déjà vu, John saw Sherlock cocking his head. Close to some sort of emotional whiplash, he warned, "Sherlock…"

Too late. With one quick motion, Sherlock gripped his arm and drew him forward; John overbalanced and landed on Sherlock's lap.

"Sherlock!"

"What?"

"Could we maybe not repeat the previous disaster?"

Sherlock let go of him abruptly. "Disaster, you say? Interesting." He shoved John away and tried to stand up.

"Wait! Wait, please? Can we talk about this?"

"So talk."

Mind distressingly blank, John thought, I wish I knew what to say. Sitting down on the chair next to Sherlock's, he tried. "Earlier, when we kissed, I… I did something and you… you were…" He saw Sherlock becoming impatient and sighed.

Elbows on the table and fingers steepled together, Sherlock asked, "May I?"

John grimaced. "Please."

"You pulled on my hair. I was not prepared for that because I do not kiss. But now I know what to expect, so it won't happen again. We can proceed." Sherlock looked hopefully at John, but whatever he saw on his face –and really, John himself had no idea anymore how he looked- he apparently felt the need to explain further. "Do not worry; I am very good at this. You don't have to be so careful."

John was cold all over.

"You're very good at what? What do you think I want from you?"

Sherlock leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms. "I thought this should be obvious?"

"No, I really don't think so. I'm not talking about having a fling here."

Sherlock looked at him for a second and nodded slowly. "Of course. I should have known that. I am sorry, John, I truly am." Standing up, Sherlock took hold of the kettle again.

John watched the now perfectly stable hands while they held the kettle under the water tap. He wanted nothing more than to run away, to get some distance between himself and Sherlock. He did not, of course. In a minute, he would be able to stand up, say something meaningless and leave the room with at least his dignity intact; until then, he would just stay here and keep his mouth shut.

And watch Sherlock spinning around in the kitchen.

John blinked a few times. Sherlock had put the kettle on the stovetop without turning the plate on and was now over at the fridge, opening it, moving very quickly. He tried to pull out the drawer but could not; it was once again jammed. But instead of leaving it as was his custom, Sherlock pulled on it so violently the whole thing came out and it was raining lemons, peppers and carrots. John heard him cursing viciously and all of a sudden, he was able to breathe again. He got up slowly, started to pick up the lemons closest to him and laid them on the kitchen counter. Then he took the drawer out of Sherlock's hands and put it back into the fridge, very aware of Sherlock who was standing to one side and looking at him intently. He closed the fridge door and, turning around to Sherlock, he glanced up at him, the beginning of a smile on his lips. Sherlock's eyes were dark and full of emotions and there wasn't a mask in sight but he still did not move. Right. John raised his hand to Sherlock's cheek and in the next second he crashed against the fridge, Sherlock's mouth on his, kissing him wildly. Almost lightheaded with relief, John let him.

After some time, John enfolded Sherlock's face with his hands; apparently fearful of being pushed away, Sherlock pressed against him even harder. But John just started to move his thumbs soothingly in circles over the high cheekbones; under the fingertips that were resting against Sherlock's throat he could feel how fast his heart was beating. Finally, slowly, Sherlock drew back a bit, probably for some much needed air, only to come back again and again as if he couldn't believe that John wasn't leaving. Using his teeth, John tugged playfully at Sherlock's mouth every time their lips were touching; his hands were petting the dark locks gently and then stroked them back behind the ears. The next time their mouths parted, John swerved a bit to the side to press his lips against Sherlock's throat. Sherlock made a hoarse sound; his head fell back, baring his throat even more. Standing on tiptoes, John kissed, licked, nipped his way slowly downwards from ear to collarbone, ripping the white shirt open a bit more. Sherlock shuddered all over, his hips pushing mindlessly against John, and John became aware of how badly his own body was shaking. He had fantasised about this, about Sherlock coming apart in his arms, for so long he could now barely control his own reaction – but he had to. Christ, we're in the kitchen, against the fucking fridge!

His hands skimmed over Sherlock's chest, trying to let things become gentler, but his fingers grazed erect nipples and instead of calming down, Sherlock pressed even harder against him, moaning loudly. His mouth slid over John's sloppily, tongue licking between his lips once, then he lowered his head and bit down hard on John's throat, hands leaving John's waist and grabbing his arse. Brain short-circuiting again, John spread his legs and was at once hoisted until he was practically riding on one of Sherlock's thighs. His hips snapped forward, pushing their erections together and oh Christ! he would come in his pants any second now. "Sherlock… I…" he panted and dug his fingers deeper into Sherlock's shoulders, sure he would leave bruises there.

Slowly, Sherlock kissed him again and released him - only to go down on his knees in front of John. He started to open John's trousers but John laid his hands over Sherlock's and stopped him. "Sherlock… no, don't."

Sherlock looked up and John literally ran out of breath. He had never seen Sherlock look that way, he hadn't even imagined him looking that way, and hell, he had imagined lots of things –pupils so widely dilated John could only see a tiny rim of grey, face flushed, lips swollen –how the hell could he say no to that… John felt the fingers under his moving, opening the button.

"I want to," Sherlock rasped. "Oh, I want to, let me!"

Right.

Trembling, he let go of Sherlock's hands and laid his own flat against the fridge door behind him, hoping to get some support for his legs there. Sherlock smiled up at him, delighted and… gentle, there was no other word for it and god, he hadn't seen a smile like that before either. Long fingers were unzipping his trousers, pushing them down, taking his boxers with them, and a second later he felt Sherlock's tongue licking teasingly over his cock, twirling around the head for a moment. John stared and panted, and then Sherlock leaned forward, lips closing around him, and with one motion he took him in so deep John almost lost it right there. "Fuck!" Drawing back, Sherlock hummed, clearly approving, cheeks hollowing. John's head banged against the fridge. He couldn't watch, he could not… Sherlock went down again, tongue fluttering against the underside of his cock, rubbing just there and… John's eyes flew open. "Stop! Sherlock, stop, stop… stop!" His hands flailed around, not wanting to grab Sherlock's hair but still trying to push him off. Sherlock didn't let him; his hands took a firm hold on John's hips and he sucked even harder and that was it. With a sob, John came, shaking all over; he felt Sherlock swallowing around him, slowing his movements and he shuddered again. Finally Sherlock let him go, and John looked down just to see Sherlock slowly licking over his lips. His knees gave out and he slid down, landing on his arse.

"You all right?" Sherlock asked, a definite smile in his voice. John continued to sit and stare, feeling dumb.

Sherlock's smile deepened and he sat down beside John for a moment, only to raise himself up again immediately, adjusting his trousers with a grimace. John was on him in a second, pushing him to the floor, kissing him, hand squeezing the clearly visible bulge under the black trousers. Sherlock made a soft noise, head going back and… and… the doorbell was ringing. And not only that; while they were both staring at each other, frozen, the street door opened and there were footsteps on the stairs.

Sherlock bared his teeth. "It's Mycroft."

"You're kidding me," John rasped.

"I wish. Dammit!" With that, Sherlock got up then leaned down to lend John a hand for which he was very grateful. While John closed his trousers, Sherlock yanked his shirt out, hiding evidence. "I have to give it to him, he always chooses the worst possible moment," he hissed under his breath, still trying to adjust himself, which was impossible, really, John thought. Sherlock's whole wardrobe was just a bit too tightly fitting. Not that John minded that. What he did mind, though, was that he had no idea where his gun was… and the way they were both looking, no one alive would be able to miss what they had been doing.

"Don't fret." Sherlock still sounded as if he was in pain.

Before John could answer, there was a knock on the door to the living room. "You think Mycroft would knock?" John whispered.

"Apparently." Sherlock raised his voice. "Come on in, Mycroft. We're in the kitchen."

Feeling extremely awkward, John turned around slowly just in time to see the older Holmes brother entering. Mycroft didn't so much as twitch when he saw them but Sherlock tensed all over and John laid a hand gently on the small of his back. He could understand the tension; Mycroft looked awful. Hair and tie in disarray, Mycroft stood in the doorway for a long moment, then he came over to the table and sat down. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, drew out an expensive looking cigarette case and a gold Zippo and lit up a cigarette. John sat down, too, and watched Sherlock staring at his brother while Mycroft was staring at the table top and smoking.

Finally, Sherlock took a seat and leaned forward. "Stop it."

Mycroft didn't look up.

"Mycroft…"

His brother interrupted him. "You know what he said to me?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. "If you tell me he complimented you on your looks, I won't feel so special anymore."

Gnashing his teeth tightly -John could hear the grinding sound even over the humming in his own ears- Mycroft did not answer. John swallowed and tried to keep the rising bile down.

"None of this is your fault."

Mycroft huffed, a bitter sound. "So you've said."

"You know as well as I do…"

"I should have killed him."

After a moment of silence, Sherlock took the lighter and a cigarette; John seriously considered getting one for himself, too. Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock remarked off-handedly, "Far too many witnesses at the hotel, I'm afraid."

"I was not talking about today."

Silence again. John looked back and forth between the brothers; both of them were now staring at the table. John remembered the scar on Richard Holmes' face very well; almost against his will, he asked, "What did you use?"

Mycroft threw him a look. "A letter opener."

All of a sudden, Sherlock jumped up so abruptly his chair skittered back on the kitchen floor. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not listen to this. Not now." He threw the cigarette into the sink.

"You are right; there is no need to…"

"I beg to differ." Sherlock turned back to his brother. "It is obvious that you need to talk about it and I think John has to hear it. I just do not want to be a participant in this conversation. Go out and talk; I need some space anyway."

"Surely not!" Mycroft barked.

John watched Sherlock closely; he looked exhausted and still flushed and strangely peaceful. He also looked like someone who badly needed to be alone. John could only imagine how this intensely private man must be feeling right now; so when Sherlock turned to him, he managed to put a smile on his face. Inwardly, he wanted nothing more than to throw Mycroft out, grab Sherlock and drag him upstairs to his bedroom. Later.

"John, I know it must be hard to trust me after what happened this morning but…"

John interrupted him. "No. No, it is actually surprisingly easy."

***

"The sounds I heard, they were… unambiguous. I knew what I would find even before I opened that door. I remember that I stood there, praying I was wrong. Then I did open the door."

***

Part Three

Sherlock Fic: Ashes to Ashes - Part One

silkmoth101 — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 18:34:18 GMT

Please take a look at the warnings and notes in the MASTERPOST.

Ashes to Ashes

Sociopathy (Antisocial Personality Disorder)
[sō′sē•op′əthē]
Etymology: L, socius, companion; Gk, pathos, disease
A personality disorder characterised by a lack of social responsibility and failure to adapt to ethical and social standards of the community.

ANTI-SOCIAL PERSONALITY DISORDER DSM IV 301.70
EXPLANATION
Individuals with an Antisocial Personality Disorder show a lack of concern toward the expectations and rules of society and usually frequently become involved in at least minor violations of the rules of society and the rights of others. A popular term for this type of individual is "sociopath". Although the diagnosis is limited to those persons over eighteen years of age, it usually involves a history of antisocial behaviour before the age of fifteen. The individual often displays a pattern of lying, truancy, delinquency, substance abuse, running away from home and may have difficulty with the law. As an adult, the person often commits acts that are against the law and/or fails to live up to the requirements of a job, financial responsibility, or parenting responsibilities. They tend to have difficulty sustaining a long term marital relationship and frequently are involved in alcohol and drug abuse.

SYMPTOMS
The signs and symptoms include:
1. Lack of concern regarding society's rules and expectations.
2. Repeated violations of the rights of others.
3. Unlawful behaviour.
4. Lack of regard for the truth
5. In parents, neglect or abuse of children.
6. Lack of a steady job. Frequent job changes through quitting and/or being fired
7. Tendencies toward physical aggression and extreme irritability.
Usually the following circumstances are predisposed factors:
1. Absence of parental discipline.
2. Extreme poverty.
3. Removal from the home.
4. Growing up without parental figures of both sexes.
5. Erratic, inconsistent discipline.
6. Being "rescued" each time the person is in trouble and never having to suffer the consequences of his own behaviour.
7. Maternal deprivation and lack of an appropriate "attachment".
Childhood victimisation was a significant predictor of the number of lifetime symptoms of antisocial personality disorder and of a diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, despite the fact that controls for demographic characteristics and arrest history were introduced. CONCLUSIONS: These findings suggest the importance of inquiring about a patient's childhood history of abuse and/or neglect when antisocial symptoms are evident. In addition to speculation about a possible saturation model for the consequences of childhood victimisation, these findings also reinforce a multiple causation model of antisocial personality disorder.

John stared at the screen of Sherlock's laptop.

A few minutes ago he had noticed his own was missing again, and he had come down to the living room, determined to wrest it away from Sherlock. Sadly, he had found out that said laptop was buried under a pillow and a head; Sherlock was lying on the sofa, asleep. Normally, this wouldn't have deterred John at all, but he knew the other man hadn't slept for days. He had just stood before the sofa, hands opening and closing almost spastically for a few moments, until he had rolled his eyes at himself and gone over to the desk, barely managing without tripping; the floor looked like a battlefield. As assumed, Sherlock's laptop had been exactly where it always was and, as also assumed, in standby mode, so John wouldn't have to worry about passwords. What he hadn't expected, though, was an open Word file on the matter of APD.

Scrolling down, John skimmed the next pages. They went on and on, partly looking like they had been copied from dissertations and medical journals, in other parts they sounded like complete and utter nonsense. One hundred fifty-three pages about a personality disorder not even specialists were too sure about. He threw a quick glance at Sherlock who still hadn't moved, then went back to reading the first page again.

Childhood victimisation was a significant predictor…

John swallowed hard; Sherlock was not a sociopath. After living with him for over two years and probably knowing him better than Sherlock might be aware of, the thought was simply ridiculous. Frowning, John skipped forward to the last page.

Validity of the Personality Diagnostic Questionnaire--revised: comparison with two structured interviews
SE Hyler, AE Skodol, HD Kellman, JM Oldham and L Rosnick
Department of Psychiatry, Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons, New York, New York.

John clicked on the embedded link, read quickly and finally leaned back on the chair. This looked strangely like a to-do-list. A thought crossed his mind and he checked the dates of the file; generated on March 1st, 1995, last amended on November 5th, 2012. He scrolled back to the first page, carefully placing the cursor exactly where it had been when he first had looked at the file, and then closed the laptop quietly. For a moment, he just sat there, unmoving. November 5th… three days ago. And three days ago, there had been that peculiar visit from Mycroft.

Finally John stood up, went into the kitchen and put the kettle on; every move he made a silent one. He put a teabag into his cup, waited for the water to boil hot enough for tea but not so hot it would wake the man sleeping on the sofa, then returned to the living room and sat down in his armchair.

Childhood victimisation was a significant predictor…

He remembered the night three days ago very well. Sherlock and he had been watching television when there had been a loud knock downstairs and only moments later someone running up the stairs. John had been surprised to see Mycroft entering; running wasn't really his style. He was infuriated, John thought, not angry or annoyed, infuriated. And a second later, Sherlock looked like he'd seen a ghost. He could practically feel how his own muscles had tensed all over; he had anticipated some sort of disaster waiting to happen, a case with immense impact on civilisation. Stupid thought, maybe, but the way both brothers had looked… But whatever John had inwardly prepared himself for, it hadn't happened. Mycroft and Sherlock had stared at each other for a few seconds, then Mycroft had turned to John and asked him to leave the room for a few minutes, asked him in such a painfully urbane and at the same time clipped tone that John had retreated immediately to his bedroom. Only after he had heard the front door banging closed –and now, when he thought about it, when had he ever heard Mycroft Holmes slamming a door before?- had John gone downstairs again… and that was the beginning of three days of living within the personal hell of the darkest mood Sherlock had ever been in.

John took a swallow of tea and looked again at Sherlock's back. Sherlock had been… well, impossible. He hadn't answered any question John had asked; he had been insulting, bristling, hissing and spitting. Not even Mrs Hudson had been able to brush it off, and John had been glad about his new job at Barts; glad about the feasibility of working overtime. But in his endeavour to avoid Sherlock as much as humanly possible, John hadn't thought the whole situation through. Considering Sherlock's mood, there was no case. But considering the state of their flat –no experiments, the strangely random mess on the floor, the clean fridge, the violin thrown carelessly into a corner- there was no boredom, either. So what…

Sherlock made a mewling sound and stretched his legs as far as possible; John tensed and then at once tried to relax his body and especially his face, praying it wouldn't give his thoughts away. By now, he was far better at being 'difficult to read', a fact that annoyed Sherlock to no end.

John sighed loudly, and Sherlock jumped. He jumped and his head whipped around, and now it took an immense effort keeping the vacant mask on. Sherlock never jumped.

"What is it?" John asked.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked back, annoyance already creeping into tone and face.

"I live here."

Sherlock sat up, looking him over; John knew he had to think quickly.

"Tea?" He asked, raising his cup.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"I would appreciate it if you stopped sleeping on my laptop," John continued.

"Then why didn't you just take it?" Sherlock hissed.

Good, John thought, Keep going. "You haven't slept for days; you look terrible. I didn't want to wake you." He didn't even have to fake the worried tone.

"Stop hovering," Sherlock snarled and turned over again, curling up into a familiar foetal position.

John was nonplussed; this had been far too easy. For a moment, he thought about poking the other man. Mouth already open to spit out the first of at least one hundred questions, he hesitated and then swallowed them down. No, that wasn't the way to learn anything. He had to outwait Sherlock. And given the tension of the body on the sofa, it shouldn't take too long.

John took another sip of tea.

Like a jack-in-the-box, Sherlock bounced up from one second to the next, stomped over the table and paused in front of John's chair, looming over him. John braced himself for the worst.

"I think we should change that," Sherlock said silently.

"Change what?"

"Your living here."

This is worse than the worst, John thought. Struggling to keep the hurt at bay, he looked closer at Sherlock's face. Oh, I was so wrong. He isn't in a bad mood, not at all. He is… scared. John blinked once.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Sherlock stared down at him for a moment, and then, in a whirl of bathrobe, he left the room; John heard the door to Sherlock's bedroom close violently. Releasing the breath he held, John pursed his lips; he was torn. On one hand, he was relieved that Sherlock hadn't insisted on that nasty topic, on the other hand, John's worry about him had just increased tenfold. What the hell is going on here?

John glanced at the papers, letters and books lying in heaps on the floor; perhaps he could find out. And he could kill two birds with one stone; Sherlock might not mind the mess, but John surely did. He heaved himself out of the chair, looking around to decide where to start. Grinning, he went over to the desk and turned on the radio hidden under it; he was sure Sherlock would hear it and would maybe even be annoyed enough to come back out again.

About fifteen minutes later, John had cleaned the middle of the room and was now working himself forward around the table and the sofa. Suddenly, a letter that was ripped half-open caught his gaze. Cursing under his breath, he wretched it out from under a sofa leg. Damn the man! It was one thing to fling his own mail around the room but John drew a line when it came to his letters. This invitation for the upcoming medical congress was clearly meant for him; why anyone would have thought he was interested in cardiothoracic surgery was beyond him, though. Standing up, he tore the envelope open completely to take a look at the cover letter. A small rectangular plastic card fell out and bounced off the table; it was a visitor pass for the congress, issued to… Sherlock Holmes. John frowned. What the…? It would make sense if the congress were about Pathology or Forensics, but Cardiac Surgery? He scanned the letter but there was only the usual official babble from the organiser to read, so he drew out the programme. On the first page -of course- Professor George Wentwall, Director of Cardiology, Bartholomew's Hospital, London. Idiot. John turned the page and stared at the picture of a handsome man. He was older; in his sixties probably, sure, but still very impressive. Black hair with only a hint of grey, proud posture, lean, but the most striking features were his eyes; one a light grey, one a dark brown. Complete heterochromia iridum, John thought, fascinated. Then his gaze fell on the name beside the picture.

He sat down on the couch, very slowly.

Sir Richard Holmes, Professor and Director of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the New York-Presbyterian/Weill Cornell, Member of the Howard Gilman Institute for Valvular Heart Diseases – Main Speaker, scheduled for 10th of November, 2 p.m.

John looked back at the picture. Oh, now he could see the resemblance, of course. The long and slim face, the hair, even the colour of that one eye… but all of a sudden, John didn't think the man handsome anymore. The look on that face seemed to be cold, downright cruel.

Childhood victimisation was a significant predictor…

For a moment, John didn't move. Then he carefully put the contents back in the envelope; sadly, he couldn't repair it, but for the first time ever John didn't think that Sherlock would notice. He forced the letter back under the couch, exactly where he had found it, and then sat down on the floor, grabbing his mobile from the table. He dialled.

A few minutes later John put on his jacket and left for Barts.

***

"I went to boarding school when I was nine years old. Late, I know. My parents had a difficult time deciding between boarding and home-schooling, so I had a private tutor first. I was sent to Dulwich College in South London. I was the youngest one there; at that time, they only typically took on pupils who were at least twelve years old. Still, I managed. Since my parents lived in Wales, near the Brecon Beacons, it wasn't feasible to come home on the weekends. It was not requested, either. I did go home on holidays, at first. Later, after my mother… anyway, later I spent the holidays away from home; more often than not I was invited by schoolfellows so I didn't return home for long periods of time. My part of the blame."

***

On his way home, John made a little detour to the supermarket to buy groceries. He wasn't quite sure yet how, but he felt the overwhelming need to get a bit of food into Sherlock, somehow. He had just arrived at their front door, juggling the two bags in one hand and searching for his keys with the other, when he heard the sound of a loud voice above him. Looking up, he saw that –despite the cold- one of the windows of their living room was tilted and he recognised the voice. Mycroft. John listened hard for a moment but couldn't make out any words, which was a shame, really. He knew that the moment he unlocked the door there wouldn't be a thing to hear anymore. Ah well. He opened the door and, as he had known, was greeted by silence. Climbing up the stairs, he didn't enter the living room; instead he went directly into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Some of the groceries were perishable, after all, and John had the feeling that the moment he met up with the two brothers his priorities would change dramatically. Finally, the food was stored away and John ambled into the absolutely silent living room, a hopefully gentle smile on his face.

"Hello, John."

John wondered how Mycroft was able to speak at all given those clenched teeth. "Good evening, Mycroft." He threw a glance at Sherlock and immediately felt his pulse rate going up. Sherlock sat on the sofa, staring straight ahead at apparently nothing. His normally pale face looked waxen.

"John, I'm so sorry to inconvenience you, but would you mind giving us a few minutes?"

Tough luck. "I do mind," John answered, sitting down on his chair. By now, he was pretty sure the smile on his face looked creepy.

Mycroft raised both eyebrows, glared shortly at Sherlock who seemed to be in an almost catatonic state and then turned back to John. "I wasn't aware you knew."

"Knew what?" John asked softly.

Mycroft's expression became blank. "Never mind, Dr Watson," he said just as softly. He made one of his weird little half-turns with the aid of his umbrella and stalked over to the sofa. "Hand it over to me, Sherlock."

No answer.

"This is not the time for you to behave tenaciously!"

John barely managed to stay seated. He wondered why Mycroft couldn't see that Sherlock wasn't even noticing him anymore. And then he wondered if Sherlock was playing them, but almost immediately, he abandoned this theory; Sherlock was good, but not that good.

Mycroft sighed and leaned heavily on his umbrella; John was sure it would leave a dent in the wooden floor. "As you wish, Sherlock. Phone me when you change your mind." He bent down to pick up a familiar envelope from the table and put it into his briefcase. "Have a nice evening, Sherlock, Dr Watson."

John nodded absently at Mycroft, his whole attention on Sherlock. He waited until he heard Mycroft leaving the house, slamming the door again, then he stood up, closed the window and turned the heat on. Hesitating, he glanced once more at Sherlock who still didn't seem to have moved. On closer inspection, though, John could see a faint tremor running over the lean body in short intervals; he also noticed that Sherlock's hands were entwined, so tightly clenched that his knuckles had turned white. His left thumb was rubbing the right one so hard it had become fiercely red; John had never seen this nervous tick on him before.

Taking a deep breath, John discarded the idea of saying anything; he was sure Sherlock wasn't able to listen, let alone answer. Tea and chicken soup it was, then. But first things first; he had to make sure Sherlock wouldn't suddenly just leave. If Mycroft had told his brother one of the things John had found out this afternoon, there was genuine reason for concern. Keeping an eye on Sherlock, John locked the door to the entrance and put the key in his pocket. Sherlock didn't react, so John entered the kitchen and locked the door there, too, then he put on the kettle and got out two cups, a pan and the can with the soup.

Waiting for the water to boil, John stared at the kettle, lost in thought. He once again marvelled at the knowledge of what gossipers medical doctors were. He didn't have to call in any favours at Barts at all; everyone had been more than willing to share what they knew about Professor Richard Holmes. And those who were too young to know him from the time he had worked there had almost run to their phones to dig up more stuff. As rumour had it, he was a genius in his field of work; John hadn't expected anything less with that surname. But his reputation as a human being was… well, notorious, to say the least. One of his former senior physicians had actually called him an ogre. And sadly, as John had feared, Richard Holmes wasn't a distant uncle of Sherlock's; no, he was the husband of Galiena Holmes, father of two sons, Mycroft and Sherlock. Surprisingly enough, the couple wasn't divorced, never mind the fact Holmes had emigrated to the US over twenty years ago and his wife had stayed in England. His further personal life remained a mystery, though. John had heard some rumours about a scandal making Richard Holmes leave his home country but no one had known anything concrete.

John swallowed; he already had certain ideas about that scandal. As much as he tried not to jump to conclusions it was hard not to when faced with an almost erratically behaving Mycroft and with the state Sherlock was in right now. The most worrying news John had received was that Richard Holmes was already in London, for some days now. Swallowing again, John lowered his head and closed his eyes; he was out of his depth here. He didn't know how to approach Sherlock; he didn't know what to say if anything at all, he didn't know how to act around him. Not enough data, Sherlock would say. As if data would help anyone navigate safely through the psyche of this complicated man.

But data and deductions aren't your greatest gifts anyway, John's inner voice reminded him. You know him. Go with your instinct.

***

"When I was fifteen, I noticed something was amiss. But again, I made a mistake. I thought it had to do with what had happened to our mother. The benefit of hindsight… you know how it is. It was there for me to see if I had just looked closer. If I had shown more interest. I don't know. I do remember that I wondered about the extreme changes in his behaviour. The joyfulness was gone, as was the shyness that always had seemed so out of character in our family. But I thought he was growing up. Dear Lord. Can you believe that I thought this about an eight year old boy?"

***

Putting the two cups with tea on the table, John sat down on the sofa, close to Sherlock. He waited for a moment but Sherlock made no move to take one of them; he just continued the rubbing motion with his thumb. Very slowly, John raised his right hand and laid it over Sherlock's; he didn't say a word, he didn't even look at him. Under his palm, John felt the nervous movement stop at once. When no immediate explosion came, he moved his hand until it slipped between the entwined ones and finally took hold of Sherlock's left hand, pulling it away gently from the other, and rested their now clasped hands on Sherlock's knee. With his left hand, John took hold of one cup and brought it to Sherlock's right hand, close enough for the other man to feel the warmth emitting from the tea. When Sherlock took the cup and raised it to his lips, John suppressed a sigh of relief. He slowly started to let go of the hand in his, but then, for a split second, he felt the other hand cling to it. Sherlock immediately tried to withdraw again, too late; John had already tightened his grip. Thankfully, Sherlock continued to sip his tea, a bit mechanically, and John tried to keep his breathing regular and slow. Inwardly, he was scared, for more than one reason.

Tea finished, Sherlock put the cup back on the table. John thought about asking him if he wanted soup but decided against it. The silence was in a weird way tense and peaceful at the same time, and John didn't want to do anything that would break the mood they were suddenly in. He was very aware of the fact that Sherlock was letting him in, in a way he never had before; John didn't know why and didn't care. So when he felt Sherlock leaning slowly against him, he –again- said nothing, only returned the pressure with shoulder and thigh. For a moment, John felt Sherlock trembling once more, then he suddenly relaxed, trusting his whole weight on John, head falling forward, eyes closed. John took a chance and freed his right hand only to wrap it immediately around Sherlock's waist, tugging carefully. Sherlock went down willingly, taking John with him until they both lay on the sofa, Sherlock's head on John's chest. There really wasn't enough space for both of them, even with Sherlock pressed against the backrest and John dangling dangerously on the edge, but John told himself that it wasn't for a long time anyway; Sherlock surely would fall asleep soon and then he would find a blanket to cover the exhausted man. While John still mused about whether he could sleep on one of the chairs or not, he drifted off where he was.

***

"I was… nineteen years old, already three years at Oxford, I think, when I went home to get Sherlock for a visit with our mother and for the first time, he didn't want to accompany me. He didn't answer when I asked him why… it was strange. He didn't throw a tantrum, he was… cold in his refusal. He wouldn't comply, no matter what I tried. In the end, I yelled at him. I yelled at him and left him behind. I remember our father was home then the whole time… there was talk about a sabbatical, some time off for research. I did not see the connection."

***

John was running up a rocky mountain path, searching for Sherlock. He was sure he would find him behind one of the big rocks he could see ahead but had a hard time reaching them. Every time he came close, he slithered backwards a few steps. Finally, more on his hands and knees than on his feet, he surrounded the first one, only to come to a sudden halt. Before him stood a massive griffin, wings spread, beak open and hissing, lion tail lashing. John stared up at the beast, unable to move, until his neck hurt. He could see one of the giant paws rising, clearly intent on killing him, and still couldn't move. The paw came down, John flinched and ducked, and woke up.

The first thing he noticed was that his neck indeed hurt. The second thing was that he could smell something -sandalwood and moss- a smell he knew by heart. John slowly opened his eyes. He was still lying on the sofa, quite comfortably now except for his neck which was reclining on the armrest at a painful angle. His body was more comfortable because he was lying completely on the sofa, with Sherlock literally on top of him. Their legs were entwined; John's right arm was around Sherlock's back, while Sherlock's arms were wrapped around John's waist. And John's mouth and nose were buried in Sherlock's hair.

Jesus. Christ.

John told his body to calm down; his body told him to take his nose out of the soft, dark locks now. John wasn't able to; to the contrary, while he was helplessly watching his hand sliding slowly up over Sherlock's shoulder blade towards his neck, he pressed a kiss onto Sherlock's head.

Suddenly he saw movement out of the corner of his eye; his head whipped around. He first glanced at knees clad in expensive trousers, about eight inches short of John's face. His gaze wandered upwards.

Mycroft. Oh this is… delightful.

Mycroft Holmes was standing right in front of them, between table and sofa, looking down at John with a murderous glint in his eyes… not to mention his red, red face. Defensively, John covered Sherlock's ear with his hand, just in time.

"What is this?"

John blinked then asked, "How did you get in here?"

Mycroft continued staring down at him, not answering, he only became redder in the face. All right, it probably had been a stupid question. John was sure that Mycroft held keys to every house, flat, bower and bicycle in London. Maybe even throughout England.

Hand clenching the umbrella, Mycroft bowed down so far he was almost nose to nose with John, and snarled, "Answer me!"

John noticed he had to pee, quite urgently; Sherlock's hipbone was pressing against his bladder. He also noticed that he couldn't remember Mycroft's question; his brain was definitely offline… and the tiny part that wasn't was busy with processing the fact that Sherlock was still lying on top of him. "Uh…"

Mycroft's face came even closer, and John started to wonder what he wanted so close. In the next moment, though, Mycroft straightened up and backed off a step so quickly he almost fell backwards over the low table. Apparently, Sherlock hadn't been asleep at all. Head and upper body rising like a king cobra, he hissed, "Go home, Mycroft. You are not invited and not welcome."

John's gaze lingered a minute on Sherlock's bed hair, then he looked cautiously at Mycroft. Yes, as he had thought; the colour of the older man's face had not improved.

"You are a fool, Sherlock. How can you fall for something like this?" Mycroft turned to John. "I am disappointed, Dr Watson. Very disappointed. Obviously, I have misjudged you. I had never thought you would take advantage of this… situation."

John clenched his teeth but before he could start yelling, Sherlock's hand slapped on his chest, demanding silence. "You stay out of this! You are meddling enough as it is, Mycroft. Don't make me get up and throw you out!"

"I will not allow you to…"

Sherlock interrupted him, voice cold as ice. "How interesting, your choice of words. One last time, Mycroft: Get out."

Not entirely sure about why these words had such an impact on Mycroft, John watched the face above them becoming pale. Mycroft averted his eyes for a second but before he turned around and left, he threw one last glance at John. And John understood; Mycroft was far from being finished with him. Not that this mattered right now; John could feel Sherlock staring at him. Hesitantly, he returned the look and for a seemingly long time, they did just that, looking at each other with a really short distance between them. Say something! John had no idea what. Doesn't matter! Say something!

"I have to pee."

One corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched. "So do I."

Although the wheels in John's mind definitely had started to turn, he was not able yet to read the expression in Sherlock's eyes. He paused for a moment, then asked, "Let's go out for breakfast later?"

"My pleasure."

***

I was stupid. No, don't. I was. You know, our father never seemed interested in his children. He certainly was not interested in me. Sometimes I think we have too much in common. Not the nicest thought. Anyway, I believed he only sired us to please our mother. That's why I said, stupid. He wasn't interested in our mother either. I have no idea how he persuaded her to marry him; without doubt, she married below herself. But I digress. As I said, he was only interested in his work. I am still not completely sure why or when he focused on Sherlock. One reason might have been that Sherlock was very close to our mother. To her and to the fairy tales she told him.

***

The next morning, John woke up to the sound of violin playing, and his neck was killing him. Again. Of course he had now slept two nights in a row on that damned sofa. Sighing, he sat up and groaned loudly. He had the mother of all headaches. Leave it to Sherlock to find the seediest pub ever whose owner had obviously never heard anything about England's no-smoking laws. In John's opinion, the cigarillos Sherlock had smoked had been overkill; two deep breaths in that hole would have been more effective than six nicotine patches.

John ground his eyes with the heels of his hands and then looked around blearily. Sherlock's playing had stopped for now; John hoped he was indeed in his bedroom and John wasn't listening to something Sherlock had taped to use for certain occasions. Like vanishing and leaving John behind once again. As he had done about ten times the day before, John got his wallet out of his jeans pocket and looked for his visitor pass. It was in there, still not pick-pocketed by Sherlock. John sighed again. Although they hadn't spoken a word about what would happen today, John knew that Sherlock knew that John knew about Sherlock's father. That chain of thought made his headache explode, and John rubbed his temples mercilessly. The last day had been… exhausting.

John had used the bathroom first and when he had come down from his bedroom later, Sherlock had been ready to go, coat, scarf, gloves and mask on. John hadn't expected anything else. On their way to the café, when John had looked around and wished he had taken his gun with him, the only meaningful words had been spoken.

"Mycroft won't just shoot you, you know?"

"You're sure?"

"Very."

And that had been that. The rest of the day had flown by, with Sherlock brooding and John trying to think of a way to talk to the man beside him. Nothing had come to mind, not at Regent's Park, not at lunch, not at the antique book shop, not at dinner. The closest he had come to saying something had been at the pub, simply because the room there had been so overcrowded that Sherlock couldn't avoid him. But then, John had already been scared. Sherlock had been too agitated, too nervous, too condescending… and too cold. The man John had woken up with in the morning had vanished completely. When they finally came home, John had sunk down on the sofa and turned on the telly, while Sherlock had clicked away on his laptop. John must have fallen asleep while trying to concentrate on the TV and not on Sherlock.

Sherlock started playing again, a haunting and well-known piece, Bach's 'Ave Maria'. Listening intently, every hair on John's body stood up on end and he had to blink a few times. Finally, he raised his head. He didn't know what Sherlock had planned to keep him away from Dr Richard Holmes, but John would not let him succeed. He had no intention of allowing Sherlock to face his father alone. Standing up, John made his way upstairs, the music following him.

Dressed in fresh clothes –he had actually put yesterday's jeans and jumper into a plastic bag and thrown them out on the fire escape to keep the smell of old smoke out of his bedroom- John arrived in the kitchen to make tea. Surprised, he saw Sherlock, still dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown, already at work, kettle in hand.

"Morning."

"Good morning, John." Sherlock threw a glance over his shoulder; he looked awful. Beyond pale, red-rimmed eyes and an absolutely desolate expression on his face.

Worried, John took two steps forward and had his mouth open until he remembered with whom he was dealing here. He sat down at the table. "Are you all right?" John asked, outwardly friendly. Inwardly, he was on guard for anything. And still, he almost missed it.

While answering, "Yes, I am fine," in a totally sorrowful voice, Sherlock poured hot water in their cups, hands moving gracefully as ever, and dropped two pills in one of the cups. It was ironic. The only reason why John didn't miss it was his inability to not watch those hands.

I don't believe this. "Toast?" John asked, proud that his voice sounded normal as ever.

"Already done," Sherlock said, putting toast, butter, jam and tea on the table and sitting down opposite to John, smiling shyly. It was all John could do to not throw the jam right into his face. Tosser.

"I liked the music." John buttered his toast slowly.

"Mm." Sherlock pulled the tea bag out of his cup.

John prepared more toast, put both on a plate, took hold of his cup and stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to finish a report," John answered calmly. He waited the precise amount of time, until continuing, "Or do you want company?" He could see thoughts racing through Sherlock's brain. Moron.

"No. No, of course not."

John turned around, then hesitated and looked back at Sherlock. "I should be done in an hour." Sherlock nodded, and John thought he saw a hint of remorse in his eyes. Wishful thinking, probably.

Upstairs, John managed to not bang the door closed behind him. He put the plate on the small desktop, opened his laptop and then sniffed at the tea. Nothing. He was tempted to taste a bit but he had no idea what kind of drug Sherlock had used. Could be something from the Fiji islands. Something hallucinogenic, very effective. I wouldn't put it past him. Suddenly he felt very tired.

John put the cup on the nightstand, sat down on the bed and looked at the clock. Eleven a.m. There was nothing for it; he had to wait until Sherlock left the house. And he had to suppress his feelings of disappointment and anger the best way he was able. The problem was that Sherlock's behaviour had felt, for the first time ever, like a personal attack. This was no mere trick, no avoidance, no playing Hide and Seek. Sherlock might have just as well knocked him out and tied him up.

I should be happy he didn't do that.

John had just settled down on the bed again with toast and laptop –there were indeed some reports he had to work on- when he heard Sherlock downstairs locking the door. Christ. Very effective. And then he heard Sherlock on the stairs… going upstairs.

For a second, John froze. Then he shoved laptop and plate to the side and grabbed the cup. He looked around frantically and finally opened a drawer and poured two thirds of the tea over his socks. Ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him they were behaving like children, he laid down quickly on the bed, face down on the pillows, trying to relax. And sure enough, the door to his bedroom opened. What he hadn't expected though was that Sherlock actually entered, closing the door behind him again.

What the hell was he doing?

John heard Sherlock crossing the room, moving the curtains and opening the window. He came back to the bed, covered John with the bedspread, pressed two fingers against John's neck, then he was gone. There was the sound of footsteps running downstairs on the ladder, and then silence.

John sat up slowly, pushed off the spread and stared unbelievingly at the open window. Brilliant. Odds are that Mycroft now has a picture of his brother leaving my bedroom via the window. He shook his head and jumped up, deliberately got the worst clothing out of his wardrobe –brown cord suit and a knitted tie- and dressed himself. Five minutes later he was out on the street, flagging down a cab.

***

"All of a sudden, no matter what I've tried, I could not reach him anymore. Ever."

***

Part Two

Glow of a Rose - Masterpost

silkmoth101 — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 22:23:22 GMT

Big Bang Story: Glow of a Rose (Masterpost)

Title: Glow of a Rose
Author: silkmoth101

Summary: After waiting centuries for the rise of the Once and Future King, Merlin is not amused to find out Arthur can fuck up anything… even his own legend.

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: Violence, Drug use/abuse/withdrawal
Spoilers: For all Seasons and for screwing around with the Arthurian Legend. Hell, in this story, I couldn’t even let the Nibelungen Legend alone.
Genres: Slash, First Time, Romance, H/C, Angst, Reincarnation!Fic, Powerful!Merlin
Rating: R
Word Count: 40.520

Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.

Author’s Notes: Lyrics at the beginning from the song ‘This Bitter Earth’ by Dinah Washington

Art: Please go HERE, take a look at the gorgeous art and leave glenien a comment!

THANKS TO:

glenien , my wonderful artist, not only for her beautiful art but also for the way she handled my freak-outs and never lost hope that I would actually finish this story.

mialoco , my… I don’t even know what to say. Cheerleader isn’t enough; this story wouldn’t exist without you. I had a hard time writing it, for various reasons, and you stood by me and yelled, cheered, pushed and shoved with an unbelievable enthusiasm that reminded me again and again that I actually like writing.

accioslash , my brilliant beta. If you know her, you know how lucky I am that she said “Yes”. I really hope you had a bit of fun betaing this monster; I sure had fun reading your comments. Quote: “Who? Dude, I got nothing!”

the_muppet , mod of paperlegends . I was scared when I signed up, and you were kind, patient and always there for every question and whimper I threw in your direction. You made this a wonderful experience.

Last but never least, my long-suffering flist. You petted my head, thwapped over it, waved pom-poms and listened to my never-ending whining. I have still no idea how you did it. :D

This story belongs to mialoco .

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Glow of a Rose (6/6)

silkmoth101 — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 22:06:23 GMT

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

“Far better as drugs… but just as addictive.”

Merlin groaned quietly. “You just had to say that, right? Wasn’t it you who told me to avoid clichés?”

“Sorry, but you have to admit it’s… ACK! Prince!”

“OW!” Cursing, Merlin sat up as well, cradling his nose which had just gotten a bonk from Arthur’s elbow with his left arm.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. Are you all right? PRINCE! DOWN!”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get that monster off me, will you?” Merlin watched Arthur wrestling the dog who obviously wanted to join them on the couch away. “I guess we’ll have to have him neutered,” he mused and then had to laugh when he saw the horrified look Arthur threw at him. “I was talking about the dog, not about you.”

“Oh, ha-ha, very funny. We will most certainly not have him neutered! He isn’t a stray cat, you know?”

“You will change your mind when he starts humping you. Because he won’t just hump your shin or knee, he will hump you.”

Arthur stared at Merlin for a minute, then he started laughing helplessly, the first belly laugh Merlin had heard from him so far. Grinning himself, Merlin grabbed the jeans that lay at the end of the couch and got dressed again. Then he threw the sweat pants in Arthur’s direction. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

Merlin watched Arthur picking at a sesame bagel and sighed inwardly; the mood had changed dramatically in the last hour. And as always, Arthur would probably rather die than start a conversation on his own. Just as well. “So… anything you want to share with me?”

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I… I wonder why I didn’t recognize her, you know? I mean…”

“She was younger then. And hey, you saw her for what? A few seconds? I didn’t recognize her either.”

“Still. Man, I don’t know. The whole thing… it’s kind of surreal. I mean, I was alone the whole time, and now, I not only find out that you and all the… other stuff is real, no, I suddenly have a mother and an aunt and… Jesus. It’s really hard for me to… to believe all this is really happening, you know?” Arthur looked up at him and his eyes went big. “Whoa… how mad are you?”

Merlin blinked a few times. “This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it? You were affected by their decisions, too.”

“Arthur, I… I’m not sure if Nimueh wasn’t right. I…”

“Oh stop that shit! You’re nothing like Uther. But still…” Arthur smiled sardonically, “…I’m kinda glad you didn’t adopt me. Things would be beyond awkward now.” Before Merlin could as much as sputter one word, Arthur continued, serious again. “I wish she could have raised me, you know? I mean, I understand her reasons but…”

“I don’t!”

“Come on, Merlin, think about it. I know how it is… how the dreams totally threw me for a loop. And I was a kid when they started, so I had –at least in the beginning- a way to cope with them. Even I can’t imagine what they would do to someone almost adult, and pregnant on top of everything. No, I’m not angry at her.”

“Nimueh…”

“Yeah, okay. But even that… Merlin, be honest. What would you have done if you had found out?”

“She put you under a spell! I wasn’t able to find you!”

“Shows how scared she is of you. I got that you thought you killed her and she got away. But it sounds like there is more to it… what I overheard sounded like she avoided you like the plague because what you had done to the others. What’s that about?”

Merlin kept his mouth shut tightly. The problem wasn’t so much what he had done; the problem was that he was still doing it, and he didn’t quite know how to explain it to Arthur. While Arthur could hold a grudge like no one else, too, this was different and Merlin was ashamed of it, but couldn’t stop anyway. Another sort of addiction, he thought bitterly.

“Still no answer? That bad, huh?”

Merlin took a swallow of coffee and changed the topic. “What do you want to do now? Concerning your mother, I mean.”

Arthur looked at him, frowning, and Merlin could easily see how torn he was between demanding an answer and letting it go. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur decided to let him off the hook. “I want to get to know her. Spend time with her. I know you don’t like it but she is my mother.”

Sighing, Merlin shook his head. “That’s not true, Arthur. I admit, I am angry at her, but I do like her. I liked her a lot, even before I knew who she really was. And I can see that she loves you. I just… please, stay away from your aunt, at least for now. Let me handle Nimueh. I don’t trust her with you.”

Arthur smiled. “As you very well know, I always let you handle anything that has to do with magic. And to be honest, the one encounter I had with her didn’t endear her to me at all.” He shuddered. “I still remember those damn spiders. I know my mother told you that Nimueh didn’t want to kill me, but hell, from where I was standing… or better, clinging, it certainly seemed as if she tried to do exactly that.” His smiled deepened. “I do remember something else, though.” Arthur held out his hand, and a second later, a blue ball of light nestled into his palm.

Merlin spent the next weeks in some kind of haze. They did lots of stuff together, buying new clothes for Arthur –which felt awesome because it was definitely revenge on Merlin’s part for the hours Arthur had made him spend with a tailor in Camelot to get him the right robes for his new job as Royal Warlock-, setting up a bank account for ‘John Smith’ –Merlin put so much money in it Arthur stopped speaking to him for the rest of that day- and of course visiting Ygraine at her café or having her over for dinner in Merlin’s house. He had warned Ygraine; he didn’t want to meet Nimueh and he wanted even less Arthur to meet her accidentally and so far, Ygraine had agreed and Nimueh hadn’t shown up anywhere.

Merlin was torn between happiness and anger. Happiness because Arthur got along so well with his mother –they loved each other dearly, it was written all over them- and anger because… well. Somewhere, deep inside his soul he wished Arthur hadn’t been so forgiving. Merlin understood, he really did, but he was still feeling resentful; he thought Ygraine got off far too easily. In the end though, he couldn’t really begrudge Arthur the sheer joy of reconciling with his mother.

They also spent lots of time talking; they had long conversations about Camelot, with and without Ygraine. Arthur and he got closer and closer, both emotionally and… physically. Merlin was still in the same state of mind he had been in the first time they had made love. Filled with equal parts of right and wrong, Merlin metaphorically closed his eyes and went with everything Arthur wanted to try. Inwardly, he waited for it to end, for Arthur to come to his senses. Merlin knew it couldn’t last; he just hoped they would survive the awkwardness that was sure to follow. With all his might, he had managed to swallow the dreaded L-word whenever it had threatened to come up, moaned out loud or trying to escape in a hiss between tightly clenched teeth. The last thing Arthur needed was to be –how did he call it?- backed into a corner again, as he had been with Guinevere. Merlin knew Arthur; a declaration of love from Merlin would trap him and he wouldn’t allow himself to move on. And while a selfish part of Merlin wanted nothing more than to keep this, keep Arthur as a lover, he knew very well it wasn’t meant to be.

He had started to come up with weird plans to stop this thing between them on his own time; the weirdest idea he had had so far was aging himself up until he fitted the image everybody had of his fairy-tale self. Long white hair, long white beard, maybe even a gnarled walking stick as an accessory. Not that he had ever looked that way, except for the one instance before Arthur had even become king. It was quite funny to think that his legendary appearance had been responsible for so many figures in modern literature; the most recent being Gandalf and Dumbledore. Anyway, it was a crazy plan; Arthur would hurt himself laughing if Merlin should ever try that.

But something had to be done, Merlin was aware of that. Already, a silent, stealthy and very comfortable routine had sneaked up on them; they went to bed together, they got up together… hell, they even took showers together. But every time Merlin tried to distance himself, even the tiniest bit, Arthur was all over him; and every time he tried to talk about the future, the same thing happened. Of course, Merlin knew he wasn’t trying very hard; he clung to this dream as tightly as Arthur had as a child to his dreams. Still, something had to give… soon.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Merlin stated while staring into the mirror.

“No, really? I would have never guessed that,” Arthur answered, rolling his eyes.

Merlin threw him a short look, then glanced back at the mirror. His irises were almost red and seemed to stay that way, no matter what he had tried. His hair stood up on end, literally; it looked like he had stuck his fingers into a socket.

“God, Merlin, can you try and calm down a bit?”

“No, I really can’t. And I won’t, not as long as this bi… witch is in my house.”

“She isn’t even here yet.”

“Your aunt and your mother will arrive any minute. I can already sense her.”

“And I can already sense that this will turn out to be a really nice evening.”

Merlin huffed. “Your idea. You wanted to meet her, okay, you will meet her. And what would be better than a nice family dinner to set the mood for further encounters, right? Sadly, you will have to live with the fact that I neither trust nor like her.”

“I could have met her alone.”

“Over my dead body,” Merlin muttered, as he had mentioned quite a few times before. The thought of Arthur meeting Nimueh without his supervision made his hair stand up even higher, and the air started to crackle around him ominously.

“Great. At least promise me you won’t kill her tonight.”

“That will depend on how she behaves.”

Before Arthur could respond, the doorbell rang. Arthur made two steps and was stopped by Merlin’s hand. “I will open the door; you will go into the living room.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed but thankfully, he didn’t say anything, just turned around and left the hall. Merlin took one last deep breath and then yanked the door open, glaring at the two women standing before him. Two very beautiful women, one blonde, one dark; one smiling nervously, the other one smirking. Or trying to smirk. Merlin smiled dangerously. “Please… why don’t you come in?”

“Yes, why don’t we?” Nimueh answered.

Merlin took a step backwards and opened the door wide. Satisfied, he watched Ygraine entering immediately while Nimueh hesitated on the threshold. Merlin’s smile became broader. “It’s too late now anyway, my dear. You may just as well come in.” All of a sudden, there was lightning flashing across the sky above them. Nimueh flinched and Merlin continued smiling. “You should know better than to stay out in weather like that.”

With a huff and a glare, she swept past him and tried to catch up with her sister, only to be stopped by Prince, who stood in her way and growled.

“Prince!” Arthur’s annoyed sounding voice came from the living room, and the dog turned about and dashed into the room right after Ygraine.

“What… you hexed the dog?” Nimueh asked, eyebrows almost meeting her hairline.

“I would never do such an evil thing,” Merlin answered lightly. “But you know what they say about animals… they have good instincts. Be glad I don’t own a cat.”

“You’re both still alive out there or should I come and wipe the blood from the floor?” Arthur yelled.

Nimueh took one step, and Merlin said silently, “You try anything, Nimueh. Anything with Arthur and you are dead.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Nimueh asked, just as quietly. Then she smiled and raised her voice. “You know, Merlin, it was never Arthur I was attracted to.” With that, she entered the living room and only Arthur’s muttered, “Oh God,” startled Merlin out of his stupor and into following her.

Merlin’s stomach churned again; while the other three had been chattering about nonsense the whole time they were having dinner, Merlin had found out how difficult it was to eat while simultaneously trying not to hex some people within an inch of their lives. He had also remembered how much he hated dealing with sorceresses. All this and Arthur’s naiveté as the cherry on the top –he got along quite nicely with his aunt- had led to an enormous, constant heartburn for Merlin.

“Merlin?”

“Huh?” He looked up and saw all three looking at him expectantly. “Excuse me, what?”

“We wanted to know if you two will come to the Summer Party next Saturday? There will also be the first exhibition in the new gallery across the street… you know, where the flower shop had been?” Ygraine asked.

Merlin looked at Arthur. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything yet,” Arthur answered, smiling slightly. As before, Merlin was thankful for Arthur’s willingness to go along with him, to let Merlin take the lead. He wasn’t sure why Arthur hadn’t mutinied yet, but he was immensely grateful.

“That’s not quite true,” Nimueh needled. “He said, and I quote, It depends on Merlin. Interesting, isn’t it? What kind of relationship do you…”

Merlin interrupted her immediately. “If I were you, I wouldn’t finish that sentence.”

“What, now I’m not allowed to talk anymore?”

“I told you before to tread carefully.”

“No, you told me to not try anything with Arthur. I won’t. He’s a bit young for me, you know?” Nimueh smiled like a cat. “Would be too easy to always get my way.”

Arthur sighed and muttered, “Well, at least we have eaten in peace.”

Merlin ignored him. “And you’re quite used of having things happen your way, aren’t you?” He looked from Nimueh to Ygraine and back.

“Oh look, the pot is calling the kettle black.” Nimueh’s eyes flickered. “I must admit, I was surprised by how… quickly you made your move, Merlin. In hindsight, this makes me even happier that I hadn’t allowed you to adopt him.”

Merlin recoiled as if she had slapped him across the face. Before he could even think about how to react, Arthur’s hand crashed down on the table.

“Enough of that shit!” he hissed at Nimueh. “Merlin’s right; you keep your nose out of our relationship, you hear me?”

“Arthur…”

“No! You should listen to me carefully, Nimueh.” Merlin noticed with something close to awe how deep Arthur’s voice became again. “One more remark in that direction, and I will kick you out of this house and straight up to the moon! And one other thing,” he looked at Ygraine who had gotten pale in the face and then continued, “I have promised my mother that I won’t get into this discussion tonight but do not think for one second that just because I haven’t said anything I agree with the decisions you made for my life, do you understand me?”

For a few moments, Nimueh just sat on her chair, saying nothing, and stared at Arthur. Merlin actually hoped she would keep her mouth shut; she might think she knew Arthur but she didn’t. She wasn’t exactly dealing with an eighteen year old boy here. But then he saw her eyes narrowing and sighed inwardly.

“Oh but of course, Arthur, I do understand. Of course you don’t agree with things you don’t know shit about. After all, Merlin doesn’t agree… and you aren’t even able to go to a party without his permission, are you?”

Arthur nodded and smiled, a smile that made Merlin cringe, then he stood up. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, get out. You will leave this house, now.”

Nimueh stood up, too, red in the face, and Merlin watched her carefully. Thanks to the heavens, she didn’t reach for her magic; she just glared at Arthur and left the table. A few seconds later, Merlin heard the outer door banging closed.

Ygraine sighed and rose. “Well, it was worth a try.”

Taking her arm, Arthur smiled a completely different smile. “We will try again, mother. I’m sure it will get better.”

“If you say so.” Ygraine turned to Merlin. “I’m sorry, I really am. I told her to keep her temper but…”

Merlin raised both hands. “Hey, no one’s dead. I’m fine with that.”

“Good night, Merlin.”

“Good night, Ygraine. Arthur, you might want to offer your mother an umbrella.”

Arthur looked at him, frowning. “Why? It isn’t…” He was interrupted by the sound of rain splattering against the windows.

Merlin smiled innocently. “It just started raining.”

While Merlin listened to Arthur handing his mother not only one but two umbrellas, he sat down on the couch in front of the fireplace, turned the wine glass in his hand around and watched the red wine glinting in the firelight. He tried to consciously relax mind and body and found it close to impossible. There was a reason why he had always mistrusted women; they didn’t need magic to hit a man to the marrow.

“What a stunning success.”

Merlin looked over his shoulder at Arthur who leaned on the doorframe. “Hey, it’s family. Just wait for Christmas.”

“Are you all right?”

Merlin looked back at the fire. “I’m fine.”

Silence from behind, then Arthur’s footsteps came closer. He sat down on the armrest directly beside him and asked, “Are you sure?”

Looking up, Merlin smiled. “Yes. You know, you’re pretty hot when you go all protective on me.”

Arthur laughed. “Pretty hot, huh? Don’t tell me that this evening still has a chance for a happy end?”

Musing for a moment if he could pull it off, just let it go and –how had Arthur called it some time ago? Go ‘with the flow’- Merlin finally sighed. “We have to talk.”

“Oh wonderful! That has to be the scariest sentence in the world.” Arthur stood up again and stretched. “No way, Merlin. Not tonight. I’m going to bed.” With that, he left, whistling for Prince. Merlin heard the door to the garden open, and then Arthur rummaging around in the kitchen, probably preparing dinner for the dog. He wondered absently how much magic cleaning the garden could take before everything in it died a gruesome death.

After some minutes, Arthur was apparently finished with Prince and trampled upstairs, right into the bathroom; the shower went on immediately. Merlin drank up and watched the glass filling itself again, then he drew his legs up onto the couch and took another swallow. It was definitely a night for getting drunk.

Merlin woke up when the ground beneath him moved. Bemused, he opened his eyes and saw Arthur at his side who drew him up into a sitting position. “What are you doing?”

Sighing, Arthur slid his right arm under Merlin’s legs, his left arm under his waist and finally lifted him up. “I’m getting you into bed. It’s two a.m. and I’m tired of waiting for you.”

Merlin mulled over that for a while. “Arthur?”

Arthur stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “What?”

“You shouldn’t carry me.”

“Why not?”

“… because.”

Arthur’s face came so close to his that Merlin’s eyes started to cross.

“Jesus! What did you drink? That doesn’t smell like wine.”

Merlin thought hard for a moment. “Cognac.” He paused. “I think. Among other things.”

“Jesus,” Arthur repeated and went up the stairs. In what seemed like a second to Merlin, he was laid down on the bed and Arthur begun to undress him, starting with his shoes.

“Don’t try anything.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and wrestled him out of his jeans. “Do you think you’ll need a bucket in the night? Oh hey, do you have something like a Pepper-Up potion?”

Groaning, Merlin tried to crawl over the mattress, toward his pillows and away from Arthur. “I told you, I’m not fucking Harry Potter.” He heard Arthur’s laugh and just before his head could fall onto said pillows, he was pulled back from them.

“I’m glad you’re not cheating on me,” Arthur said while he was drawing Merlin’s shirt over his head.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Merlin grumbled.

“Never mind. What about the bucket?”

Merlin looked up at the slightly swaying ceiling above him. “Might be a good idea.”

“Yeah. Try to not throw up until I’m back.”

Merlin closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Arthur sat on the mattress beside him, taking off his socks. “Where’s the bucket?”

“Right here on the floor. You fell asleep again. Here, drink this.” Arthur handed him a huge glass, obviously filled with water.

“If I drink this, I will puke.”

“If you don’t, you will regret it in the morning. Come on.”

He managed half of it and then dove for the bucket; if not for Arthur who grabbed him by the shoulders, he would have fallen out of the bed. Merlin hated puking. With a vengeance.

“God, you’re shot. Why the hell did you drink so much?”

Head still hanging over the edge of the bed, Merlin wheezed, “I hate my life.”

“I bet you do. Now answer the question.”

“That was the answer.” With Arthur’s help, he straightened up only to let himself fall backwards on the pillows.

“Why?”

Merlin looked up at Arthur’s serious face and groaned again. “What, now you want to talk?”

“Yes. Maybe now I have the chance to actually hear the truth.”

So Merlin talked. And then, he talked some more. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he had the feeling he was still talking while falling asleep. The only thing he was sure of was the look in Arthur’s suddenly dark eyes.

The piercing morning light shot right onto and through Merlin’s closed lids and hit his brain which promptly exploded with pain. Groaning, Merlin turned over and pulled a pillow over his head. Gods, it had been ages since he had such a gruesome hangover. On further thought he reconsidered. He had never had such a hangover before. “Arthur? Could you please shut the curtains?” he whimpered. “And then, you can save my life by getting me some aspirin.”

No answer.

“Arthur?”

Merlin squinted cautiously out from under the pillow to the other side of the bed which was empty. Wonderful, he thought grumpily. Fucking morning people. With a groan and tightly closed eyes, he heaved himself up and over to the windows, drawing the curtains closed. The problem with hangovers was that they left him a bit powerless. Oh, he could work magic if he had to -which he had proven quite a few times in history- but it made his head and eyes hurt like a son of a bitch. Cursing under his breath, he groped around until he found the door, entered the hall and immediately cursed some more. Since when was the hallway so damned bright?

“Arthur? I could use some help here!”

The house sat silent.

“Arthur?”

Where the fuck is... Merlin paused and opened his eyes; all of a sudden the morning sun didn’t bother him anymore. From afar, he could hear his own voice, stammering words. You have to understand… won’t ever work… you have a mission… I have a mission... I have done things… maybe, a new identity for you… adoption is still possible… I love you so fucking much… but don’t you understand? This can’t ever be…

Merlin blinked. He had… he had… Racing into the bathroom, he still barely made it to the toilet.

There was no letter, no message at the fridge, no nothing. Arthur’s new jacket and sneakers were gone, as was his wallet. Of course, Prince had left with Arthur, too.

Merlin sat on the stairs and stared at his hand in which he held the one thing that had destroyed the last bit of hope Merlin still had had left while he had been searching the house from top to bottom. Arthur’s keys; Merlin had found them on the kitchen table. Arthur had left his keys, and that meant he wasn’t coming back. Leaning shoulder and head at the wall to his left, Merlin stroked with his thumb over the little silver, dragon-shaped pendant. He ignored his still pounding head and he also ignored the tears running down his cheeks. He wasn’t entitled to cry, after all.

And there I was, thinking I’ve made mistakes before. Merlin smiled bitterly. How could I have been so stupid? Drinking myself into a stupor with him around, blathering out all the things he should have never heard. By now, Merlin remembered everything he had told Arthur the night before. About the curse he had laid on Morgana, Viviane and Mordred, how he was still sucking their life-force and magic out of them from afar, how he was sucking them dry like a goddamn vampire; about all the times he had destroyed Guinevere’s and Lancelot’s lives over the centuries, unable to stop no matter how often he did it; about the plans he had made for Arthur’s life, and that he, Arthur, had no say in all of this, like a puppet to which Merlin held the strings. And then, worst of all, on top of everything else, he had told Arthur that he loved him.

I wonder if he puked his guts out as well after I fell asleep.

Merlin thumped his head against the wall, pondering if he should reach out for Arthur, looking for his whereabouts. He was scared to death that Arthur would turn to drugs again; Merlin had certainly given him the means to do so. He owned so much money now that he could spend a lifetime on drugs if he chose to. Still, if Merlin searched for Arthur magically, the other man would know it immediately; Arthur was just as sensitive to Merlin’s magic now as the King of Camelot had been. Merlin was sure that Arthur would become even madder if he noticed Merlin’s presence so soon after he had left… and this could lead him right to Merlin’s second worst fear; Arthur could turn to Nimueh.

It would make sense, of course. Arthur wasn’t alone anymore, was he? He had a mother, an aunt, a family. A family who would take him in with open arms. For a moment, Merlin wondered if this had been Nimueh’s plan from the start, then he dismissed it. No one, not even Nimueh, could have foreseen the magnitude of Merlin’s stupidity. No, the only thing left to do for Merlin was to wait, maybe a few days, a week. If he hadn’t heard from Arthur by then, he would go looking for him, at least to make sure he was all right. Everything else… well. He had lost Arthur’s trust again, and no one knew better than Merlin how long Arthur could hold a grudge. But he was young, barely a man, and if Merlin managed to rein himself in and keep his head down, there might be a chance for reconciliation.

Feeling exactly as old as he was, Merlin contemplated getting up and making coffee; the kitchen seemed to be very far away, though. While he was still staring straight ahead, he suddenly heard the sound of a key being inserted in the front door, and then said door opened and Prince bounced inside, prancing like a pony and shaking an apparently new stuffed toy in his snout, followed by a flushed looking Arthur. Closing the door behind him, Arthur threw what looked like Merlin’s bunch of keys into the little dish right beside the coat rack. Prince jumped him; Arthur laughed and tried to wrestle the stuffed animal away from the dog, walking backwards toward Merlin’s direction. The moment Prince saw Merlin, he let go of the toy and stared at him; Arthur, obviously surprised by his sudden victory, stumbled back a few more steps and then followed the line of Prince’s gaze until he glanced at Merlin, too.

Even though he could imagine all too well how horrible he must be looking, Merlin wasn’t able to say a thing or to move a muscle.

Arthur regarded him for a long moment, then he swung his backpack around and opened it, pulling out a big paper bag from the bakery around the corner.

“Breakfast?”

Merlin sat in the kitchen, clutching a cup of coffee in both hands, and watched Arthur setting the table. He wasn’t sure if he could eat something; Arthur had bought bagels and muffins and cinnamon rolls… still scared, Merlin wondered if they were awaiting company.

“It’s a bit much for just the two of us, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’m very hungry and I thought you would be, too. My mistake.” Arthur sat down on the chair right beside Merlin.

Merlin didn’t answer, just nodded. As so often in the last weeks, whenever they had been alone, he averted his eyes, looking down at the cup of coffee in his hands.

“You thought I had left for good, didn’t you?”

Merlin nodded again.

“Why?”

Biting his lips, Merlin hesitated, and then took the easy way out. He got Arthur’s keys out of his jeans pocket and laid them on the table. “That’s why.”

“Oh, there they are! I couldn’t find them, so I took yours.”

“They were here, on the table.”

Silence for a moment, then, “Merlin? Would you please look at me?”

Merlin huffed; he remembered all too well a very similar scene some time ago… they were even seated at the same place. He breathed out and looked up, right into Arthur’s absolutely serious eyes. “What?”

“I guess you were right yesterday; we really have to talk.”

“Yeah, we do. Though I already did quite a bit of talking last night.”

Arthur smiled. “I wondered if you would remember; I’m kind of glad you do. So you won’t mind now if I tell you what I think?”

“No, I don’t mind. I’m surprised that you want to, though.”

“Merlin…”

“After all, I told you who I really am. What I’ve done. So yes, I am surprised, really surprised you’re still here.”

Arthur leaned back on the chair and crossed his arms, shaking his head. “What, you think I give a fuck about what you’re doing to Mordred and the others? I don’t. Neither do I care about Lancelot and Guinevere. Although I do hope that you will stop this. Again, I don’t really care but I don’t want them in our lives. Maybe that’s a habit you could break?”

“I guess.”

“Great.” Arthur sliced up a bagel and began to spread marmalade over it.

Merlin stared at Arthur, speechless for a second. This couldn’t be true; the Arthur he knew would never let something like this just go. “What… that’s all you got to say to this?”

Sighing, Arthur answered, “Merlin, I was never under the illusion that all there is to you are rainbows and unicorns, you know? The important thing is and always had been that you were and are the only one loyal to me.”

Merlin barked out a bitter laugh. “Loyalty, huh?”

“Whatever the reason.”

At once, Merlin looked back at the table. He didn’t want to discuss this, he didn’t want to talk about his reasons and he didn’t want to know Arthur’s opinion of these reasons. Tensing all over, he waited for Arthur to continue, but to his total bewilderment, Arthur changed the topic.

“The one thing I have a real problem with is your plans for the future, for my future.”

Merlin’s head whipped around and Arthur started to laugh. “God, you should see your face! A mule has nothing on you!”

“Arthur…”

“No. No, Merlin.” Standing up, Arthur got a bottle of spring water out of the fridge, and instead of returning to the table, he leaned back on the counter, eyes narrowed. “You really think I am stupid, don’t you? In the last weeks, while you were pussy footing around this damn destiny you think is mine… and around a few other things as well, I thought long and hard about it. The answer is no. I don’t want to. I won’t be the savior of the world, Merlin. I don’t want such a responsibility… again. And most of all…” Arthur laughed quietly, “… I don’t want to be adopted by you. Jesus. So please stop with all your schemes and plans and ruses. I know you know me. But you always forget that I know you, too. I… well. I can see it in your eyes. I always could. Stop it, please.”

To say Merlin was confused would be an understatement. He had noticed of course that Arthur wasn’t keen on their destiny or about anything that had to do with the Arthurian Legend. Whenever he had mentioned anything in this regard, Arthur had either left the room or, more often, kissed Merlin into the ground, cutting off any conversation immediately. But Merlin had never expected Arthur to talk so calmly, so surely about it. He had thought there would be yelling, lots of yelling, fights… and finally, Arthur giving in. He had no idea how to handle the stranger looking at him.

“The world…”

“The world can take care of itself. Merlin, please listen to me and accept it. I don’t want this.”

“What do you want then?”

Arthur took one swallow of water, put the bottle down on the counter and then, all of a sudden, smiled like a shark. “You know, I have been waiting for this question.”

He sauntered over to Merlin and sat down on top of his lap, facing him. The chair beneath them creaked ominously due to the additional weight. Merlin stared again, cross-eyed, but at least he managed to not start wheezing right away.

“I want you,” Arthur said quietly. “I want a life with you.” Smiling, he stroked a thumb over Merlin’s lips. “You weren’t the only one wrongheaded these last weeks. I heard what you told my mother the first day she came here. You said I’m not in love with you. You’re wrong. You’re all I want, Merlin. I didn’t say anything because I noticed how badly you wanted to avoid talking about feelings. I thought you would figure it out in time. But after what you told me yesterday… and when I came home earlier and saw your face, I knew you wouldn’t. So… brace yourself.” Arthur’s smile deepened. “This is not a crush, and I would never, ever jump a goat. I love you, I’m in love with you, and whatever you might think and whatever you might do… this won’t change. Ever.”

Merlin looked up at Arthur’s flushed face and stroked the sweaty blond hair back from his forehead, returning his smile. Then he drew him back into another kiss; a kiss far more gentle than the ones before. He felt Arthur smiling while he was kissing him, and again, Merlin wondered why he wasn’t feeling insecure or uncomfortable anymore. What he was feeling was peacefulness, safety, happiness and… love. How Arthur had managed that was a…

“Stop thinking, would you?” Arthur whispered. “I’m kissing you… you’re giving me a complex.”

“No need for that. I was just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“That makes two of us, then.” Arthur tightened his arms around him and rolled them over, so Merlin was now looking down at Arthur. He still hadn’t made up his mind what position he preferred best.

He stroked a fingertip over Arthur’s nose, bewitched by the beautiful blue eyes watching him. Eyes, which suddenly started to roll.

“You’re doing it again!”

Merlin started to laugh. “Hey, I was just wondering. What do you want to do with your life now that… destiny flew out of the window?”

Regarding him closely for a moment, Arthur relaxed again. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll go back to school, get a degree.” He shrugged and then grinned. “Or maybe I’ll take cooking lessons… and become a house husband!”

Merlin snorted. “The poor house.” And then, because he couldn’t resist, “The poor world. Maybe I should start looking into buying a remote island before the world as we know it goes down.”

Pursing his lips, Arthur nodded. “Maybe you should; then we could run around all day naked. And if you’re so worried about the world, maybe you should write a book about its state. Share some of your knowledge.”

“I write horror novels.”

“Well, if you write a book about the end of the world… if that’s not a horror novel, what is?”

Epilogue – Eight years and five books later

Merlin opened the door and stumbled into the dimly lit hallway. Feeling stupid, he just stood there some time, petting but otherwise ignoring the tail-wagging Prince. “Arthur?” he finally called out.

“In here, I’m making bread!”

Merlin dazedly turned to the right, following Arthur’s voice and then squinting when he entered the sun-streamed kitchen. “Gods, it’s bright in here.”

“You just came home… isn’t the sun shining on the other side of the street?” Arthur grinned, turning around to him, then started to frown. “Hey… are you all right?”

“They want me to… run for office… the Governor’s office.”

Arthur leaned back against the fridge, crossed his arms and grinned. “That’s so?”

“Yes.” Merlin wondered if he sounded as flabbergasted as he felt. “They’re all crazy.”

Arthur’s grin became broader. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What do you mean? Get what?”

“Merlin… you’re a totally stupid twit. You never catch on with things that are happening around you, you know that? As I told you years ago, it’s not me who will save the world. It never had been me. God, you just have to think about how my reign ended. It’s you, Merlin.”

“What?”

Arthur smirked some more and then went over to him, taking him into his arms. “The world will be saved by an idiot warlock with big ears,” he stated. “And I think that’s exactly what the world needs.”

The End.

Glow of a Rose (5/6)

silkmoth101 — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 20:34:07 GMT

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Merlin woke up, face down in the pillow, and wondered if summer had arrived yet; he was feeling goddamn hot all over. The next sensation he became aware of was a weight lying on his back… a hairy and hot weight which obviously had drooled on his back quite a lot. And for one blessed second he thought Prince had somehow managed to get into the bed with him… them. Them.

Opening his eyes, even full of horror, wasn’t really useful when one’s face was literally pressed onto a pillow, Merlin found out. He also noticed that he could not move, not even a bit. Arthur was sleeping on top of his back, snoring slightly, drooling immensely, and he had both of his arms clamped around Merlin’s waist. Merlin felt like Audrey II had gotten hold of him.

All right, Merlin mused. What you shouldn’t do now is freak out. Seriously. What’s done is done. What you DO need is a good reason to tell him why this never can happen again. You also need a good reason to get up and out of this room right NOW. Images of the last night flitted around behind his closed eyes. Arthur… Gods! This should never had happened, what kind of demented asshole are you? And then Merlin did exactly what he promised not to do; he freaked. He reared up, threw Arthur off and shot out of the bed… or he tried to. The rearing up worked, but already the throwing Arthur off thing didn’t really work; Arthur’s body seemed stuck to him like crazy glue. And as for leaving the bed at top speed and without any dignity at all… it was hard to do so if one found himself captured by two strong arms, rolled over and plastered against the wall.

“Stop that shit,” a gravelly voice grumbled.

“Let go of me!”

“Oh please,” Arthur said, yawning. “Don’t tell me this will be your standard response whenever I take you in my arms.”

Take you in my arms… Ruthlessly, Merlin stamped down on his stupid, stupid emotions. He had a very clever answer to that on the tip of his tongue –some nonsense about not wanting to be there- when Arthur rolled on top of him again, this time face-to-face, and said, smiling, “Good morning.”

Merlin stared up into blue, blue eyes and swore he could feel every thought in his brain vanishing. “Uh…”

“Mhm.” Arthur lowered his head and began to gnaw slightly on Merlin’s throat.

“We have to… talk… we really have to… Arthurrrrrr…”

“We really don’t. Not yet,” Arthur murmured, licking a path downwards over Merlin’s collarbone to his left nipple.

Okay, Merlin thought hazily, one more time. Only one more time. For once, his inner voices neither snorted, nor laughed nor screeched. There was only a stunned silence.

Prince finally saved the last shreds of Merlin’s sanity; while Arthur had –again- fallen asleep on top of him, Merlin had done nothing except comb through the blond hair on his shoulder for what felt like hours, refusing to think of anything. But when a Great Dane felt the need for a walk and was probably also hungry as hell, well, no one could ignore it. Not if one wanted the door to the bedroom to stay intact. Merlin cautiously slid out of Arthur’s embrace… only to find himself captured again. This time, Arthur actually snarled.

“Arthur… you have to let me go now, okay? Otherwise, Prince will build himself a doggie door… a doggie door of his size right in the bedroom door. I’m fond of this door as it is, I really am.” The arms around him didn’t give an inch. “Look, I will let him out in the garden –the herbs are dead anyway- give him his meds, feed him and then start on breakfast. Aren’t you hungry yet? You have to be hungry; we ate almost nothing yesterday.” Merlin wondered when and where he had picked up the amazing ability to talk so quickly.

For a moment, Arthur didn’t move. Then he sat up, sighed and shook his head. “No… well, yes I am but I’d still like a couple of hours of sleep better.” He let himself fall back again, thankfully on the bed this time, not on Merlin. “Just please make sure there is coffee when I get up.”

“Will do.”

Merlin was almost at the door, when Arthur spoke up again. “Merlin?”

“Yes?” Merlin turned around to look straight into Arthur’s eyes.

“Don’t… please promise me you will be here when I wake up.”

“I promise. Arthur, I won’t go anywhere. Ever.”

Arthur closed his eyes, and Merlin opened the door, only to be jumped by a not amused looking monster dog. “I know. No! Come on, let him sleep, I’ll let you out.”

Downstairs, Merlin opened the patio doors, leaning against it and not watching the havoc Prince most certainly was wreaking on the garden. He also steadfastly refused to think about the man upstairs in his bed or what had happened between them. After a few minutes of staring into the morning sun and contemplating the consequences of a Once and Future King with a juvenile record, a career as a drug user and the fact that said king was at least bisexual if not gay and involved with a much older man, he noticed the damn good job he did of not thinking about Arthur. Sighing, he called Prince in –he had what looked like the rest of Merlin’s lavender in his snout- led him into the kitchen for the antibiotics and a huge amount of food in his dish, then Merlin left the gorging dog behind to take a much needed shower.

He was just rubbing his hair dry with a towel, when he first heard Prince barking once and then the doorbell. Swearing, Merlin grabbed his black bathrobe and hasted downstairs again. The doorbell rang again. “Coming,” Merlin yelled and dashed across the hall to where Prince was already waiting, tail wagging like crazy. Merlin looked through the viewer and paused. Linda. What the… Merlin hadn’t even known she knew where he lived. Whatever. He opened the door wide, one hand on Prince’s collar to prevent him from jumping the tiny woman and smiled widely. “Good morning, Linda!”

The blonde woman smiled back, a bit tentatively. “Good morning. Merlin.”

“Sit down,” Merlin hissed out between clenched teeth and pointed to one of the yellow kitchen chairs. Then he turned around and hit the button on the coffee maker with such force that the poor thing slithered back a few inches; thankfully, he didn’t kill it. Merlin leaned back at the counter and looked at… Linda or whoever she really was. His magic swirled around her, but as so often happened with women, he learned nothing. The only thing of importance was that Linda was obviously aware of the magic around her, but she didn’t look frightened, only a bit wary.

“I mean no harm, Merlin.”

“That’s so?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you?”

“I think you know who I am.”

“No, I really don’t.” In truth, Merlin began to suspect who that woman was -Sieglinda, indeed- but he didn’t want it to be true. Because if it were true, he would have reason to hate her and he still didn’t want to do that.

“I’m his mother,” Linda said quietly.

Merlin swallowed hard; his magic crackled in the air between them. He ripped the half-full pot of coffee out of the machine and filled two cups without really looking away from Linda. “Sieglinda, huh? The mother of Siegfried, the German and Norwegian Arthur. Cute.”

“I was born under the name Maria Johanna Saratori. I changed it to Sieglinda a few years ago…when I… well.”

“Why not change it to Ygraine? That’s your true name after all.” Merlin was angry, sad and worried at the same time, deeply worried about the man in his bed. Arthur didn’t need another upheaval right now. And Merlin was also infuriated… because all this meant she had known… she had known for a long time and hadn’t told him. All the things Arthur had been through, all these years alone in that godsforsaken orphanage…

“I didn’t want you to find me then.”

Merlin banged the cups on the table and sat down opposite to her. “Oh, that’s great reasoning! I’m sure Arthur will be delighted to hear that.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know yet, Merlin.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Everybody’s got a sob story, right? But you know, I only want you to tell me one thing… why didn’t you come to me years ago? Huh? Why? I could have…”

“What?” Ygraine snapped. “What, Merlin? Adopted him? Been his father? Become a new Uther? You want that role in his life?”

Merlin was beyond angry now, in fact he was so filled with rage that he couldn’t even answer her; the only thing he was able to do was to hold on with both hands to the tabletop and not hex her into a neat pile of ashes where she sat. Not that the woman across the table seemed to be any less furious; dark blotches of red high on her cheekbones, blue eyes glinting and narrowed, she looked as if she would attack him any minute now. She also looked… a lot like Arthur suddenly.

“That wasn’t for you to decide,” Merlin finally hissed.

“Quite the contrary. It was my decision, I’m his mother!”

“Awesome job you did!”

Ygraine recoiled, becoming pale, and Merlin immediately regretted his words. And then he wished he wouldn’t… but he did. He didn’t know her story yet -and maybe you should have listened to her first before condemning her, his inner voice helpfully added- but he had seen how she was behaving around Arthur. It had been there for him to see the whole time – she loved Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Ygraine looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap, and then whispered, “I wanted to. Tell you I mean. But… someone told me not to, and her arguments were good. Still, I often thought I should go to you but now, in hindsight,” she looked up at Merlin, her gaze lingering on Merlin’s face and neck, “I know, I know she was right.”

Merlin stared at her. “Someone, some woman told you not to?” Two names were blazing through his mind. “Please don’t tell me it’s either Morgana or Viviane.”

“You think,” Ygraine hissed, “that I would let one of them come near my son? They killed him!”

“Mordred killed him.”

“He couldn’t have done it without their help!”

Merlin leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms. “You know, you know a lot about things that happened after you had been dead. How come?”

“My sister was alive.” Ygraine lowered her head and sighed. “She still is… just like you, Merlin.”

Merlin was stunned into silence for a minute. “Your… what? That’s the first time I heard about this. You… you have a sister, obviously a sorceress, who survived the Purge? And no one has ever mentioned that before?”

“When you came to Camelot, the only ones to know were Uther and Gaius. Uther would have never said a word and Gaius…” Ygraine swallowed, “… I guess he thought it wasn’t important anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Why would he have thought…?” Merlin broke off when an inconceivable thought fluttered through his mind. “That… can’t be. I killed her. I KILLED HER!”

By now, Ygraine looked ready to flee any second. “No,” she answered. “You didn’t.”

“NIMUEH?!”

Ygraine only nodded.

“You’re kidding me, right? She… she tried to kill me, she tried to kill ARTHUR!”

“No! She never tried to kill Arthur… I can’t say the same for Uther, though. And you… I guess she wanted to teach you a lesson about who’s more powerful. She found out.”

“I saw her die.”

“No. You saw an explosion of light and heard her screams. She vanished, wounded but alive.”

“That can’t be. Gaius came alive afterwards; if she hadn’t died, he would have stayed dead.”

Ygraine shook her head. “Nimueh told me about it. She said you brought him back to life. Barely of age, you were more powerful than any other being she had encountered before, and you didn’t even know it. That’s why she stayed hidden all the time… well, that and… she found out what you did to the other three.”

“She told you about them?”

For the first time since she had entered his house, Ygraine smiled. “Yes. Very impressive… and fitting.”

Merlin ignored that. “Where is she now?”

“No. I won’t tell you, not as long as you look like you would kill her on the spot.”

“She is a dark sorceress.”

“No, Merlin, she isn’t. She is one of the most good-hearted and friendliest women you can imagine.”

“Friendly? She almost let my mother and Gaius die!”

“When you met her, she was beside herself for years, insane with rage and grief.” Ygraine hesitated for a moment, then continued. “But you know how that feels, don’t you?”

There wasn’t anything to say to that, after all.

“Where is Arthur?”

“He’s asleep, upstairs,” Merlin answered, eyes still covered by his right hand; he wondered how long he could hide behind it. For centuries, he had been proud of his brilliant mind, of his ability to deal with anything. The moment the Pendragon, no, the Pendragons were back, everything went to hell.

“Do you think it is… too soon to tell him?”

Merlin let his hand fell back on the table. “I don’t know. Really, I… I don’t know. It’s been a few hard days… the sick dog, the detox, him telling me his story and then… er. I don’t know. He’s not Mr. Stable right now and…” Merlin paused at the guffaws coming from his inner voice. All right then. “To be honest, Arthur’s been remarkably stable… I’m the one who’s not.” He looked up at Ygraine and saw nervousness and hope in her eyes. “And I can’t really tell you what I think because –as you’ve said- I don’t know many things yet.”

“But he does know who you really are now, doesn’t he?”

“Great. Nimueh’s been spying on us?” Every time Merlin mentioned that dreaded name, he felt his stomach churning. Oh what he would give to get his hands on her right now.

“No, she isn’t. She can’t. The only thing she has managed is keeping tabs on your whereabouts; she didn’t ever want you to stumble over her. As far as she told me, even that was difficult; your shields seem to be very dangerous, she compared them to magical flypaper. And the moment Arthur entered your house, she lost her connection to him as well. But… she said there was a ripple on the surface of the Old Magic a few days ago. In her opinion, that meant that… uh… you two… reconnected?”

To his horror, Merlin felt himself blush all over, so he hid again, behind both hands this time. Reconnected… now that’s a word for it. “Um… a few days ago? Well, Arthur kinda recognized me then, but he was feverish and still in the middle of withdrawal. Only yesterday, we… he… uh… well, he started to believe in his own memories again. We talked about Camelot and what had happened then…” Merlin sighed. “So yeah, if you call that ‘reconnecting’, I guess we did.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Wondering if it was possible to turn into the color of a ripe tomato, Merlin laid his head on the table and refused to answer.

Ygraine was blessedly silent for a few moments, then she laughed quietly. “You know, for someone who’s been around for so long, you’re kind of bashful.”

Groaning, Merlin mumbled, “You’re his mother! So excuse me for not wanting to have this conversation with you.”

“My sister told me about the elaborate mating dance that was going on in Camelot between you two. So much in love with each other, and still neither of you did any…” She broke off when Merlin sat up quickly.

“Stop. I have no idea what’s going on in Nimueh’s head but she’s wrong. Arthur was never in love with me, nor is he now.”

Ygraine frowned for a moment, then raised both eyebrows. She looked creepily like Arthur. “So… these love bites on your neck… you made them appear by magic?”

Merlin’s head went back on the table. “You’re talking about sex, not love. Arthur’s eighteen; he would jump a goat if he could.”

While Ygraine started laughing, Merlin thought longingly about disappearing. He knew he couldn’t, not with Arthur up there, his mother down there and Nimueh the Gods knew where. But still.

They were on their second cup of coffee, and Merlin had begun to wonder what would happen when Arthur finally crawled out of bed and came downstairs, when Ygraine started to speak, quietly.

“I got pregnant when I was seventeen. I was… pretty wild when young. Not sure why; my parents weren’t exactly warm people, but nothing really bad had happened to me.” Merlin wondered for a moment what Ygraine considered ‘really bad’.

“Anyway, I didn’t know who the father was; I had lots of one-night stands. When I found out, I didn’t want it; I had already made an appointment for an abortion. But then…” she sighed, “… the dreams started. First, I saw Arthur as a newborn baby, and this image had such an impact on me… now I know why of course. It’s the only true memory I have of him. I cancelled the appointment. My parents weren’t delighted, but they gave in and told me they would help me raise the child. It didn’t work out that way, though. The dreams became worse and worse. I saw him as a man, wounded, crying, sad, damaged, dying… not one happy image of him. And I felt all this was my fault somehow. I saw other things, too… dragons, burning stakes, a husband of mine I didn’t recognize, my sister… you know. The dreams bled over into my real life as well; I thought I had lost my mind. My parents and my doctors thought the same. When I was seven months pregnant, I was committed to a hospital; they couldn’t do much because of the pregnancy… no medication, only therapy.” Ygraine hung her head. “I once mentioned to my therapist that I didn’t think my baby should live… that I thought his life would be horrible. I guess that was it. After giving birth to him, they didn’t even let me see him. I was ill for a long time, maybe history trying to repeat itself, I don’t know. When I re-surfaced… he was gone. I can’t even remember signing the contract to give him away for adoption.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “What happened then? Did… Nimueh help you?”

“I wish. No… I recovered slowly from the birth, shut my mouth and stopped talking about the weird dreams and was finally released from the hospital. I was eighteen then and I moved out of my parents’ house. Unlike Arthur, I didn’t get dependent on psychotropics; my drug of choice was alcohol.”

“Gods.”

“I drifted around for years… I can’t remember much of that time; I was constantly drunk. It did help, you know? I mean, the dreams didn’t vanish but they became endurable. And that was all that I wanted then. I didn’t want to think of my child, I didn’t want to think of anything. I guess I wanted to die. And then… on Arthur’s fifth birthday, Nimueh appeared.”

“His dreams started then.”

“Yes, that’s why she became aware of him. And me.”

“Now why didn’t I?”

“I don’t know. Nimueh doesn’t know either; she told me she was waiting for you to come to get him but you didn’t.”

Merlin barked out a laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

Sighing, Ygraine shook her head. “I know you don’t believe me but Nimueh isn’t your enemy, Merlin. She did shield him from the others, though. And she tried to help him with the dreams from afar, but it didn’t work. She finally managed to help me stay clean and convinced me that I wasn’t insane; that took some time. And then we talked a lot about the things that happened in Camelot and about Arthur of course. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t claim him and I had no chance of adopting him but Nimueh could have pulled it off. I didn’t…”

“Why the hell didn’t you come to me? I understand that your sister didn’t want to, but you could have come. You’ve told me, Nimueh knew who and where I was. So why? I could have helped Arthur.”

“After I understood everything, I wanted to. But Nimueh, she insisted not to. She has the gift of the Sight and…”

“GODS! The Sight is…”

“A fickle gift, yes I know. I heard it often enough.”

“Not only a fickle gift! It’s not reliable, never! No matter what, the Sight depends on who’s playing with it! People who are using the Sight are projecting themselves into what they see! Believe me, I know all about it.”

“Everything she saw came true.”

“Yes, of course!” Merlin stood up and began to pace. “Don’t you see? She led the way!”

“It wasn’t only that, Merlin. There were other reasons as well, reasons that meant more to me than anything Nimueh foresaw.”

“What?”

“She said you would only burden Arthur with your idea of his destiny. That you would turn into another Uther; maybe treating Arthur better on the surface but nevertheless pushing him into a role he might not like or choose for himself. Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but… it makes sense. And I had all these memories of him, images of a deeply unhappy man… please!”

Merlin, leaning on the window sill, felt cold all over, inside and out. “I don’t believe a word of this.”

“Merlin…”

“No, hear me out. I don’t think you’re lying to me; I’m sure you believe all this is true. But your sister has been lying to you, for what reason, I’m not sure yet.”

“She hasn’t…”

“But of course she has. There are far too many things that don’t make sense. Firstly, I am sure she had known about you even before you gave birth to Arthur. She must have put a spell on him at once; not only for hindering me finding him, but also for everyone else… did you never wonder why he hadn’t been adopted within a month after arriving at the receiving home? A healthy, blond, beautiful baby boy? And secondly… you’ve said it yourself, Nimueh could have easily adopted him and raised him with you. Why didn’t she?”

Ygraine stared at him, pale, and didn’t answer.

Merlin smiled bitterly. “You know, I really wanted to keep you out of this, to see you only as a victim. But I can’t. Nimueh was afraid to keep him close to you or her, afraid I would –despite her spell- find out and kill her or worse. And you, you chose your sister over your son.” Tasting bile at the back of his throat, Merlin swallowed hard. “Tell me, how did it feel… having all these memories of Arthur, of a time where you hadn’t been able to help him… and at the same time living with the knowledge of a boy you could help, but choose not to?”

“It wasn’t like that, it…”

“Ygraine. You have a head on your shoulders and a brain in it. I’m not saying you should have immediately taken action after Nimueh appeared. But when she came to you, Arthur was five years old. You had thirteen years to make the right choices, and yet, you’re sitting here and you’re still defending the ones you made.”

Crying, Ygraine whispered, “I love him.”

“I know. I’m also aware of the fact that Nimueh orchestrated all this; the book, the letter. And if I acknowledge this, I also must believe that her intentions weren’t evil. I even give her that… she might have been right about me. I don’t know what would have happened if I had raised Arthur… I just don’t know. But the fact remains that all these decisions led to eighteen years of hell for Arthur.”

“But what would have been right, then?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Merlin yelled.

Before Ygraine could answer, Merlin saw out of the corner of his eyes sudden movement at the door. Whirling around, he was relieved to see only Prince standing on the threshold. The relief didn’t last, though; Prince wasn’t looking at him or at Ygraine, he was staring at something –or better at someone Merlin realized with a sinking heart- in the hall. The huge dog whimpered and then raised a paw as if to nudge said someone.

Merlin didn’t even stop to think. He ran over to the door, startled Prince into jumping out of the way and saw Arthur sitting on the floor right beside the kitchen door, knees drawn up, arms around them, face buried between them.

Merlin sank down on his knees close to Arthur, not knowing what to do or say. While he was still staring helplessly at the huddled man in front of him, he noticed Ygraine coming through the kitchen towards them. He didn’t know what to do with her, either. His magic decided. The kitchen door closed with a bang a moment before she reached the threshold, and although the door didn’t have a lock, Ygraine tried in vain to open it again. For a second, Merlin could hear her voice, then the sound cut off, too. Prince, who was just about to lick Arthur’s neck, looked at Merlin and retreated quickly to the other side of the hall, tail between his legs.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

Arthur looked up at him but didn’t answer. His hair was a mess, eyes red-rimmed and again far too wide. Merlin didn’t hesitate; he framed Arthur’s face with his hands, leaned close and rested his forehead against Arthur’s. “Look,” he whispered, “you don’t have deal with this right now. Go upstairs, I’ll send her away.”

Arthur shook his head. “No. I… I’m not sure what to think right now, but I want to talk to her. Alone.”

Feeling an unpleasant twinge of something he didn’t want to examine at the moment, Merlin nodded. “Okay. I’ll go and get us some fresh bagels for breakfast, all right?”

Arthur spread his knees, wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist and drew him closer. “No, please don’t go. I just want to talk to her for a moment; I can’t really go into this now. And I really, really don’t want you out of the house. Not after what I heard. She could be out there and…”

Laying two fingers over Arthur’s lips, Merlin smiled softly. “You don’t have to worry about me. Even if Nimueh is standing right in front of the door, prepared to kill me, she wouldn’t be able to.”

“Viviane…”

“I’m much, much more powerful now than I was then. Remember, Nimueh stayed away the entire time… would be pretty stupid to go to so much trouble getting us together and now try to harm or kill me, right?”

“Maybe,” Arthur answered. He looked tired, worried and not at all capable of dealing with his mother right now, at least in Merlin’s opinion.

“How are you? The truth, please.”

“Not so good,” Arthur said quietly, tightening the embrace further. “But I’ll manage. Just… please stay close.”

“All right.” Merlin gently pulled back a bit, stood up and helped Arthur onto his feet as well.

Merlin paced through the huge living room, Prince close on his heels. He was tempted, oh so tempted, to listen in. It would be easy, he wouldn’t even have to enhance his hearing magically, he could just lay his ear against the wall. But as much as he wanted to know everything, as much as he thought he needed to know everything to protect Arthur, he didn’t do it. He could all too well imagine Arthur’s reaction if he found out. And whatever else was happening, Merlin didn’t want to hurt Arthur in any way. He would have to trust that Arthur would tell him later.

Merlin took a deep breath. Trust had never come easy to him, not after what had happened so long ago. He had led a solitary life, never wanting to get too close to others, and while it was of course impossible to keep that distance from Arthur, Merlin was still almost scared about his own behavior, about his inability to hold on to any boundaries at all. He was worried about the long-term consequences of his actions, but he also had no idea how to draw back now without hurting Arthur again.

With a sigh, he let himself fall on one of the couches and buried his face in his hands. Nothing, nothing was going according to plan. He had somehow failed to take the Arthur-Factor into account; this man had always messed up any plan ever made by Merlin. And he had also turned a blind eye to the power of his own emotions. He was so used to being stuck in an unrequited love mode that Arthur’s willingness to tumble into a physical relationship had totally overwhelmed him. And now? While he had been truthful when he told Ygraine that he knew Arthur wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t help the traitorous hope rising again; hope he had felt a few times in Camelot and which had always been crushed within hours. Things were different now of course; Guinevere was out of the picture.

Merlin lowered his hands and stared unseeingly at the cold fireplace. For a few seconds, he allowed himself to think about it; Arthur was young, apparently inexperienced… it would be so easy to manipulate him… suddenly flames flared wildly in front of him and Merlin grimaced and shook his head. The thought was madness, no, worse, it was perversion. Arthur deserved far better than him, and Merlin would do well to remember that. He had to be very careful, had to keep things casual at all costs, even if it killed him. Arthur had to be able to walk away from this one day easily, and that meant he mustn’t ever find out how deeply Merlin’s emotions ran.

Prince whimpered silently, and when Merlin looked at him, he saw the dog’s head cocked to one side, regarding him. Merlin smiled a bit; if he didn’t know better he would have thought Prince looked skeptical.

“You don’t believe me, hm?” Merlin petted Prince’s head. “I admit it won’t be easy, but it’s for the best… for him and for me, in the long run.” The dog huffed and Merlin’s smile deepened; he ruffled the dark fur a bit more. “Come on, I’ll let you out in the garden; you can dig it over once more.”

No sooner said than done, Merlin observed Prince running around excitedly for a few moments, when behind him the kitchen door opened. Arthur and Ygraine entered the hall, both of them looking shaken to the core. When Ygraine saw Merlin, she came over to him and hesitantly laid a hand on his forearm. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Merlin asked coldly.

“Well, for…” she floundered for a minute, and then smiled unsurely. “I guess for not killing me on the threshold?”

“Tell your sister to stay away from this threshold. Good-bye, Ygraine.”

Ygraine hesitated again and finally nodded. “Good-bye, Merlin.”

The moment the door closed behind Ygraine, Arthur vanished again into the kitchen. Merlin waited a few seconds and then followed him slowly, wondering why every difficult conversation had to happen in there.

Arthur was sitting on a chair, huddled, arms wrapped around himself, head hanging down. Putting a hand on his neck and squeezing slightly, Merlin asked, “How bad is it?”

Without looking up, Arthur just shook his head. Merlin tried to take one of his hands, only to find they were clawed in his waist –which suddenly explained the bruises. “Hey, let go. You’re hurting yourself.” When Arthur didn’t react at all, Merlin cupped his chin and brought it up until he could finally look into Arthur’s eyes. They were dark and filled with panic; Merlin swallowed. “Paper bag?” he asked softly, although he could clearly see that Arthur wanted something else.

Arthur grimaced, showing clenched teeth, and then his right hand shot out and grabbed Merlin’s arm. “Please,” he croaked, “please, you have to help me.”

“Let’s get a bit more comfortable, okay?” Merlin gently pried Arthur’s fingers open, took his hand and led him into the living room. “Lay down on the big couch, please.”

Arthur’s eyes became even wider. “What… I thought you would give me…”

“Arthur, I told you I can’t you give you anything right now. You have the choice between a paper bag, chamomile tea, talking… or we could try using magic. In Camelot, my magic always worked for you. Maybe I can…”

“No! Please…”

“Trust me?”

Arthur hesitated, and Merlin could see his hands were shaking again, but finally, he nodded once. “Yes.”

Concentrating, Merlin laid his hands carefully on Arthur’s chest, and this time, he let his eyes change color purposely, not into the aggressive almost red but into a soft silvery glow. He skipped the ‘Please relax’ speech altogether and just let his magic flow forward. What he tried to do wasn’t without risk, Merlin was aware of that. While he had often treated Arthur medically in Camelot, he had next to no experience with psychological illnesses. But still, he had helped him get some sleep, and he was very sure that he –or better his magic- had often calmed down the burdened king. He let his absolute need to protect Arthur mingle with the magical flow; but then, after he slid one hand upwards to Arthur’s face, he abruptly hesitated. By now, Arthur had already relaxed somewhat, his eyelids were drooping, his breathing became slower. He was trembling badly yet, and although his eyes were almost closed, his gaze was still locked on Merlin’s face. Whatever he saw there made him ask, “What is it? Are you all right?”

No, I’m not, Merlin thought, a bit panicky himself now. The moment his one hand had touched Arthur’s face while the other one was still resting above his heart, his surroundings had become hazy. Mixing emotions with magic was obviously not the best idea he had ever had. He hadn’t only projected the protectiveness, but also the love he felt for Arthur -which made sense, because those feelings were closely related to each other- but Merlin suddenly wondered what Arthur was feeling… and if he was able to recognize the emotions for what they were.

“Merlin?”

“I’m all right,” Merlin lied. “What about you? How are you now?”

Arthur smiled. “I’m fine. Whatever you did… I feel good.”

“Great.” With that, Merlin yanked his hands off Arthur and at the same time, cut off the magic flow. Bad idea. Arthur gasped and flailed wildly, going from relaxed to freaked out in one second. And Merlin couldn’t help him; he dropped to the floor, black spots were appearing before his eyes, and with a sinking feeling he realized he was about to lose consciousness. He didn’t understand what was happening –he had never experienced something like this before- and with all his power, he tried to shake it off, whatever it was, but he had no luck. Darkness was about to swallow him, when he felt strong hands grabbing his arms, and then he was pulled up on top of Arthur and into a crushing embrace. Arthur clutched him so tightly that Merlin groaned a bit; then he put his face into Arthur’s neck and held on.

A few moments later, Arthur combed his fingers through Merlin’s hair and asked, “You’re still with me?” Merlin nodded, and after two shaky breaths, Arthur continued. “Okay… what’s going on? I have the strangest feeling you’re now in worse shape than I am.”

Arthur was right; Merlin’s pulse was going through the roof, he was trembling all over and worst of all, he was scared to death of… something. He dug his fingers deeper into Arthur’s back, sure that not even a crowbar could get him away from the body beneath him.

“Fuck. Merlin… that’s not a solution, you know? You can’t just… hell, whatever it was you did! Take on my problems, my angst? Are you mad?”

Merlin couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell Arthur that this had not been his intention at all, simply because he couldn’t catch his breath; he was panting as if he had just run a marathon. Finally, Arthur turned them both to the side, pressing Merlin against the back of the couch, and looked him over, eyes full of concern.

Merlin wheezed, “Paper bag.”

Instead of getting up, Arthur leaned in closer and kissed him carefully, lips moving gently over Merlin’s. Merlin changed his mind immediately; this was far better than breathing into a bag. His hands left Arthur’s back and he threaded his fingers through the blond hair, preventing Arthur from pulling away again. Not that Arthur seemed to think of stopping any time soon; his kisses were slow and deep and soft. Merlin gave himself over to them, just as he had done last night and a few hours ago, dimly wondering how someone as young as Arthur could be so completely in charge here. But he was, and Merlin surrendered willingly when Arthur’s hand wandered down the short distance to Merlin’s buttoned jeans and undid them with one gentle tug. Ripping his mouth away to take a breath, Merlin moaned and Arthur laughed quietly.

“You were in a hurry getting dressed, weren’t you?”

“What?” Merlin rasped and then looked down while Arthur took off his jeans completely. Oh. Right, he had skipped the boxers in his haste to return to Ygraine. He started to speak and stopped immediately when he saw Arthur leaning in. Was he… oh Gods, he was.

Arthur’s mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, and Merlin gave a muffled shout, trying with all he had to not buck up and choke him. Shivering, he felt Arthur hesitating for a moment and hell, the knowledge that he had never done this before was just as arousing as the actual act. Again, Merlin opened his mouth to say something… profoundly stupid, he was quite sure of that, but Arthur suddenly got over the crisis or thinking process or whatever he had going on down there, and started to suck tentatively. Moaning, Merlin stared down at the blond head moving up and down for a minute, then he threw his own head back, eyes closed tightly. Feeling the sensations was overwhelming enough, actually watching Arthur going down on him was… impossible. He fisted his hands on parts of the couch, moving them restlessly in the need to keep them away from Arthur’s head, until Arthur seemed to notice what he was doing and thankfully grabbed both of them, their fingers intertwining. How Arthur managed this without breaking his rhythm or faltering even a bit was beyond Merlin. Then Arthur decided to become inventive; he bestowed tiny, flicking licks upon the head, swirled his tongue around it and went down again. Merlin made a desperate sound; it had been a definite mistake to open his eyes so soon again. His hips started to lurch and he whined, “Arthur… stop… s… stop…”

Merlin could see Arthur’s damn eyebrows going up, and his mouth took him in deeper, a tiny bit deeper than before, and Merlin stiffened, clutched the hands in his even tighter, his hips arching upwards as he came. Violent convulsions rocked his body; from afar, he heard Arthur coughing but even that didn’t stop his hips jerking again and again.

Finally, Merlin calmed down a bit; after a few deep breaths, he managed to loosen the grip he still had on Arthur’s hands –Gods, his fingers were hurting- and drew Arthur upwards, away from his sensitized cock and into his arms. Arthur looked at him, teary-eyed, and smiled apologetically. “I guess I need a bit more practice.”

“Mhm. Let me show you?” Merlin asked and flipped them over magically, startling Arthur into a moan.

“God, you’ll have to hurry.”

“Good thing you’re only wearing sweat pants, then.”

Part 6

Glow of a Rose (4/6)

silkmoth101 — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 22:28:45 GMT

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Merlin woke up being confused. He felt rested for the first time in days, and for a moment, he didn’t understand why that didn’t seem to be a good thing. He watched the morning sunlight streaming through the window, and then it hit him. He shot up, looked at the other side of his bed –empty- and then fell assfirst out of the bed in his hurry to get up without really freeing his legs that were still wrapped in the sheets.

Fuck, where is he?

Merlin didn’t stop to put on clothes; he ran down the hall clad only in his boxers, looked into the bathroom –also empty- and then somehow made it downstairs without breaking his neck. He rushed towards the kitchen, barely looked into the living room on his way and then stopped so suddenly that he almost landed on his ass again. There he was. Arthur was sitting on the couch close to the fireplace, Prince’s head in his lap, staring down at the dog. He looked up when Merlin entered the room, his eyes widening a bit by whatever he saw on Merlin’s face.

“What… how are you?” Merlin asked, trying not to wheeze like the maniac he was.

Arthur only nodded. “When did you get him? How is he?”

Taking a deep breath, Merlin toddled over and crashed onto the couch facing them. “Yesterday, when you were sleeping. He had pneumonia but he will be fine. He still has to take antibiotics but that doesn’t seem to be a problem; he eats anything you put in front of him.”

“But he will be fine?”

“Yes. He needs to take it easy, stay inside as long as possible, sleep a lot… actually quite like you. The only difference is that I will take him out in my garden so he can do his thing,” Merlin grimaced slightly at this prospect, “and you can go to the bathroom.”

“You have a garden?”

“Yes, behind the house. I hope I can keep him out of my herbs. You want to see it?”

“Not now, maybe later.”

Merlin nodded, watching Arthur closely. He certainly looks better, he thought. But something’s off again; he’s jumpy as hell.

“What’s going on?”

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing. Thank you for… everything. Thank you for not dumping me at a hospital.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, I remember that. Still… it couldn’t have been fun for you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it fun but it wasn’t a hardship either. I’m just glad the worst seems to be over.” Merlin’s glance fell on Arthur’s hands that were trembling badly. “The worst is over, isn’t it? Please level with me… how are you feeling?”

“I’m…” Arthur bit on his lower lip. The tremor seemed to wander up and downwards from his hands, until he shook all over. Prince whimpered softly and looked at Merlin, but he was already on his way over to them.

“What’s going on with you?” Merlin repeated softly, laying a hand on Arthur’s back. Since he was now close to Arthur he could hear and feel how erratically Arthur was breathing.

“I… I don’t know. Give me a minute,” Arthur gasped.

Merlin frowned. Arthur was sweating heavily again, but he wasn’t feverish anymore. He slid his hand quickly up to Arthur’s neck, catching an incredibly fast heartbeat. “Hey… calm down. Nothing will happen to you.”

“A moment.”

“Arthur…”

“NO!” Arthur jumped away from Merlin, landing on the other side of the wide couch, and put his hands over his ears. “Don’t call me that; I can’t deal… I can’t…” Arthur broke off, obviously because he wasn’t able to talk anymore. He was beyond pale, still breathing far too quickly, and looked like he would pass out any second. Merlin realized that he would if Merlin didn’t act right now. He stood up and ran over to a cabinet in the hall, noticing absently that he was freezing his ass off. Getting the paper bag he had been looking for, he also grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that were lying on the floor near the hamper for whatever reason, and hopped back to Arthur, struggling with dressing himself on his way there.

Arthur was lying on the couch, feet drawn up almost into a fetal position, still wheezing helplessly. Sitting down, Merlin took hold of both of Arthur’s arms and pulled him slowly to his chest. He handed him the paper bag, and Arthur apparently knew the drill; he started breathing into it immediately. “Slowly,” Merlin murmured. “Try to breathe out longer than you breathe in.”

Arthur’s eyes were almost completely black and wide with fear; far too soon, he lowered the bag and gasped out, “I… it isn’t working! I need…”

“No, you don’t. Keep breathing into the bag, it will go away.” Arthur struggled and Merlin tightened the hold he had on him.

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly well,” Merlin answered, bringing Arthur’s hand with the bag back to his mouth. “You’re having the mother of all panic attacks; but even the worst of those will go away on their own.” Merlin took Arthur’s free hand and was relieved when he felt Arthur clinging to him. “There is only so much adrenaline your body can produce until it gets too much and it stops,” he continued talking in what he hoped was a calming voice. “Just go on breathing, slowly.”

Finally, some color came back to Arthur’s face, and he relaxed slightly against Merlin. He let go of the paper bag and rubbed his face with one hand: the other was still holding Merlin’s tightly.

“Better?” Merlin asked, and Arthur nodded, averting his gaze.

“Hey.” Merlin saw shame written clearly over Arthur’s face. “Your mind and your body have been through hell the last days. Stop being so hard on yourself; I told you before, we’ll deal.”

“How?”

“Time. Right now, I can’t give you anything to calm you down, not even herbal stuff like valerian. So we keep paper bags close and I talk you through the attacks, if you can stand it. I don’t think the anxiety will stay around for long, but you know, the cravings…”

“Won’t ever stop, I know.”

“I wouldn’t say ever, but it will take time for it to get better. And you will have to be careful about what meds you take in the future; no benzos anymore, ever.”

Arthur nodded, head falling back against Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin rested his cheek on it. They sat in silence for a while; then Merlin noticed Arthur was gearing up for something to say.

“Why are you… calling me that?”

Merlin considered the question for a moment, then answered. “I know you under that name.”

Silence again; Merlin felt the body in his arms trembling a bit.

“So… I am crazy. Oh God. This isn’t happening, right?”

“What isn’t?”

“This!” Arthur waved his hand around, pointing at the living room and at Prince. Then he raised their linked hands. “This. I will wake up in a hospital, chained to a bed.”

“I really doubt they chain people to beds nowadays.”

Arthur made a weird sound. “Oh they do. It has happened before.”

Clamping down hard on his reaction to this statement, Merlin answered calmly and –as he knew- futilely, “You’re not crazy, you’re not insane, you’re not psychotic. There is no hospital this time, this is real. I am real.” He hitched the body in his arms up and closer.

Suddenly Arthur started to laugh. Merlin tried to get a look at his eyes, but Arthur stared straight ahead. “So what… you’re a… wizard?”

Again, Merlin paused for a minute. “Well, wizard reminds me awfully of Harry Potter. It might be out-dated, but I still prefer the title Warlock.”

“Yeah, sure,” Arthur whispered.

Merlin took a deep breath. “What do you say… I make us breakfast, and you tell me what happened to you?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have loads of time.”

It was immensely satisfying for Merlin to watch Arthur practically inhaling a huge breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee and orange juice; all of it vanished inside Arthur with immense speed. Merlin just clung to a cup of coffee and tried to relax. He already knew that the coming day would be even more taxing on them than the last few had been.

Arthur finally pushed his plate away and leaned back on the couch, looking a bit queasy.

“Stomach okay?” Merlin asked.

“Yeah. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

Merlin nodded and continued to watch Arthur carefully. He noticed that Arthur looked anywhere but him, eyes never settling on anything. The pressure of the silence between them grew until Merlin decided that he had to be the one to start this conversation if he wanted them to have it.

“So… you know who I am?”

Arthur jumped at that, threw a startled gaze at Merlin and immediately averted his eyes again. “I know nothing about you!” He hesitated for a moment. “Well, I do know your name is John Emerson and that you… are a writer. Horror novels.”

Surprised, Merlin sat down the cup he had been still clutching between his hands on the table. “You know my books?”

“I own one. Someone gave it to me.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Someone?”

“I don’t know who. It was there when I woke up one morning. I… I was in another state then. Uh…” Arthur looked around. “Did you… where is my backpack?”

“It’s still in the car. Wait a moment, I’ll get it.” Merlin stood up and then paused, looking at Arthur, assessing him.

“What?”

Merlin sighed. “Nothing.” He went out into the hall where the bag had already appeared, grabbed it and returned to Arthur.

“I thought it was still in the car?”

Merlin didn’t answer, just handed the bag over to Arthur and sat down again. He still wasn’t sure if he should openly use magic around the other man. Arthur wasn’t stupid, he had to have noticed some things by now but Merlin hadn’t put any magic on open display yet. He all too well remembered the panic attack one hour ago; an attack that had been provoked by him calling Arthur by his name.

“No answer?”

“You sure you want one?”

Arthur lowered and shook his head. Merlin saw him biting his lips for a minute, then he opened the bag and pulled out a well-known hardcover. Merlin winced. ‘Mirrors’. Great choice.

“Did you read it?”

“Yes, of course, it creeped the hell out of me. But you know what the creepiest thing was? This.” Arthur turned the book around in his hands, and Merlin could see his own face on the inner cover. “Well, this and… that.” He opened the book in the middle and drew two things out; one looked like a card and the other like… a ticket or something.

“Can I take a look at that?”

Arthur handed it over and Merlin glanced at the card. He took a deep breath. The typed name and address of Lancelot’s and Guinevere’s pub, and beneath it, in block letters, Here you will find what you’re looking for. “Subtle.” Merlin concentrated on the handwritten letters, letting his fingers stroke over them, reaching. For a second, a wave of dread washed over him, but before he could hold on to it, the feeling vanished again. Merlin frowned. This wasn’t possible; there was no one alive on Earth who would be powerful enough to elude him.

“What is it?”

Merlin shook his head and looked at the other piece of paper… it was a train ticket, issued to John Smith; a ride to this town, on a train that had arrived here five weeks ago. “That was in the book, too?”

Arthur nodded.

“Well, then I have to ask again. Do you know who I am?”

Mute, Arthur stared at him.

“It’s only a logical question… Arthur.” Merlin ignored the other man’s flinch. “Why would you have come here if not for me?”

Still deadly quiet, Arthur’s breathing took up speed again.

“You’re here, Arthur. Not in a hospital, and you’re not dreaming. I can pinch you if you don’t believe me.” And then, Merlin did exactly that. Without moving a muscle, he let his magic pinch Arthur in the arm, not too gently. Arthur jumped again, looking at him wide-eyed.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Arthur whispered, “You weren’t there.”

“I know. You found Lancelot, Guinevere and Gwaine.”

“Will and Mary.”

“Lancelot and Guinevere.”

Arthur didn’t answer, so Merlin pressed on. “Did they recognize you?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you stay then?”

Arthur closed his eyes. “You weren’t there,” he repeated.

“No. My letter got… delayed, I guess.”

Eyes flying open again, Arthur asked, “Your letter?”

This time, Merlin stayed seated. He just raised his hand and kept a close look on Arthur while the letter flew out of his jacket’s pocket in the hall right into his hand. Arthur didn’t really react to it; he was pale anyway, he just looked wearier than he had before.

Merlin handed the envelope to Arthur and watched him look at the picture. When he saw the name typed on the letter, Arthur glanced at him. “This looks like…”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure it has been written on the same typewriter.” Merlin let his head drop on the backrest and sighed. “Someone is orchestrating all this; and it’s annoying the hell out of me that I can’t find out who that someone is.”

“Orchestrating what?”

“Us meeting again.”

Arthur shook his head slowly. “All right, who told you about me? Why are you playing me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, if you want me to accept that I’m not in some drug induced delirium, you have to tell me why you’re doing this. How did you do that with that letter? I don’t believe in magic!” Arthur stated quite desperately.

Merlin smiled. “You’re lucky I’m not a fairy. I might have dropped dead.”

Unbelievingly, Arthur asked, “What? Now you’re quoting movie lines to me?”

Merlin sighed again. “No, sorry. I’m just having a hard time to think of a way to convince you it’s true; you are Arthur Pendragon and I’m your long-suffering warlock, Merlin.”

“Do you know how insane that sounds?” Arthur yelled suddenly.

“Not for me, it doesn’t.” Merlin saw how hard Arthur worked on looking angry, to no avail. It was easy to read the fear underneath. “Look… why don’t you tell what happened to you?”

Huffing, Arthur spat out, “I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Arthur rubbed his hands over his face. “Right. Okay, I’m an orphan. I have no idea who my parents are, nor what happened to them, if they’re still alive or not. I was raised in… quite a few institutions, since I was a baby.”

Merlin frowned. “What… you weren’t adopted? Why not?”

Shoulders drawn up, Arthur murmured, “I already told you why. I was… ‘round the bend.”

“You were a crazy baby?”

Arthur hesitated. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe there was something off about me even then.”

All of a sudden, a thought struck Merlin. He reached out towards Arthur and let his magic search for something he hadn’t considered before. Arthur reacted immediately; his eyes went wide and he shrank back as far as he could. “What are you doing to me? And your eyes…”

Merlin drew back; he learned what he had wanted to know. “I’m sorry. I really thought I had grown out of it, but for some reason… well, since you reappeared, I’m not as good at hiding my magic as I had been before. Therefore the color-changing eyes. About what I did… I wanted to know if you’re under a spell. You’re not.” But you have been, Merlin thought. God dammit! What the fuck is going on?

“Maybe you are the crazy one here,” Arthur said, staring at him.

Merlin managed a little laugh. “Well, I have to admit, since I found you on that damned street, as a beggar, I had quite a few moments of insanity. Whatever. Please continue.”

Arthur swallowed. “Uh… as I said, I grew up in treatment homes. Well, I was in one until I was ten years old. Then they started to move me around; to other places or… later in hospitals.”

“What happened?”

“Um. When I was five, actually exactly on my fifth birthday, I started to dream about weird things. A castle. Soldiers. Rooms I’ve never seen before. But mostly, I dreamt about… you.”

“You dreamt about me when you were five years old?”

“Yes. I dreamt about you every night. The other things changed, you were always there. I… even when I was awake, I saw you sometimes. I knew your name was Merlin. I knew you were my friend. And I waited for you to come and get me. You never did.”

Merlin felt like someone had punched him in the gut; he somehow swallowed around the lump in his throat and bit out, “I didn’t know.”

Smiling strangely, Arthur said, “Of course not. You weren’t real.”

“Arthur…”

“No! You can’t be real! I learned it the hard way, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I told the guys… the caretakers. About you, about who I really was…” Arthur shook his head. “I remember they were quite amused in the beginning. In hindsight, I guess they thought I’ve seen the Disney movie or some other stuff.” He buried his face in his hands. “God, that sounds so crazy. Anyway, they told me that it was okay to have an imaginary friend. I insisted that you were quite real. I kept dreaming, lots of stuff.”

Merlin interrupted him. “What stuff?” He was worried now; Camelot had never been a peaceful place and he wondered how the hell a little boy could cope with that.

“Oh, happy stuff.” Arthur huffed. “The hardcore dreams came when I was… I don’t know, fourteen, fifteen? I was already on medication then, so I’m not sure. When I was about nine, they started to try and talk me out of it; they said I was too old now to only live in my dream world. They wanted me to make real friends; I didn’t want to. I already had one and I was still waiting for him. As I said, when I was ten they moved me to another orphanage, one who cared for kids with special needs. Lots of shrinks there.” Arthur lowered his gaze. “They tried for two years… but I wouldn’t budge. They showed me lots of stuff; documentaries, stories, movies… they told me there wasn’t ever a King Arthur, no wizard named Merlin, that this was all a legend, a fairy tale. But I still insisted; I pointed out what the stories got right and what was wrong. Then… it got worse. I had real trouble separating reality from… my dreams. For example, I saw you standing in a corner in the public room, but when I ran there you vanished into thin air. And for the first time, I remembered… Uther. I hid from him. I pointed him out to others. That got them going. Shrink said I was showing symptoms of schizophrenic psychosis. They dragged me to a psychiatrist and before I knew what hit me, I found myself in a hospital.” Arthur was talking faster and faster. “I can’t remember what they gave me when I first arrived there, but it put me under for good. I… I lost lots of time then. When I woke up… I guess they lowered the dosage, well, I totally lost it. I didn’t know where I was. I kept screaming for… the dreams came back with a vengeance. I think that was the first time when I dreamt about dying. Over and over again. I was alone, you weren’t there.”

Arthur wasn’t looking at him, and that was the one thing Merlin was grateful for. He felt close to vomiting; he had to swallow the whole time to keep the bile rising in his throat down.

“I kept switching between being depressed and violent. I threw punches at everyone who came close, so they cuffed me to the bed. And, God, they stuffed me with drugs. They didn’t help anymore, though. To the contrary, I was flooded with images… and there were no happy images anymore. I can’t describe it… it was like… it’s not true, there were good things I remembered, even fun things but… the overall feeling was, I don’t know, pressure? Pressure and betrayal.”

Merlin couldn’t stay on his side of the table anymore. He jumped up and sat down again beside Arthur, reaching for him, but Arthur moved away at once. “No, don’t touch me!”

“Arthur…”

“No! I have to get this out now, don’t you understand?”

Nodding, Merlin settled down and leaned back.

“Okay. Finally, things became calmer. Oh, my mind was filled with all these… well, I thought memories… but… I was more lucid when I was awake and I realized I had to shut my mouth and stop attacking others or I would never get out of that damn hospital again. I somehow managed it. I started to give the right answers. They prodded at me for about a year, I think. I… developed a sleeping disorder. I didn’t want to sleep anymore because I didn’t want to dream. And I got those damn panic attacks. And then…” He broke off.

“Lorazepam.”

“Yeah. Ativan… well, the generic stuff.”

“With what dosage did they start?”

“Eight milligram.”

“What? That’s the maximum dose!”

“I know. I thought it was quite brilliant. I felt good. No dreams, no panics… I felt normal if a bit tired.”

“How long…”

“Until I was eighteen.” Arthur looked at Merlin and grimaced. “They didn’t care and neither did I. The stuff’s cheap… well, as long as you have a doctor prescribe it. They were all quite happy with the results. I was moved to another house then, one for very special kids and hell, I was the calmest one there, believe me. When I turned eighteen, they threw me out. That was real fun. It was winter; I had no idea where to go or what to do.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t help you… I don’t know, point you to somewhere.”

“Oh, they did. They gave me an address for a homeless shelter. Hey, I found out it wasn’t only me. Two days after I landed there, another guy from the house turned up. On his eighteenth birthday, too. I was already in trouble then. I only had a few pills left, and I cut them down to two a day. That barely took the edge off.” Arthur hesitated again. “You know… I wasn’t exactly only taking four a day before anymore. Anyway, the other guy had quite a few suggestions how I could earn money to buy my drugs.”

Merlin’s head whipped around, and he stared at Arthur, tensing all over.

Arthur smiled a bit, looking horribly young. “No, I didn’t do that. I think I would have rather… doesn’t matter. I tried to keep it together. I didn’t want to lose it so badly they could have sent me back to a hospital. I ate at the soup kitchen; when I was lucky and someone else got sick, I earned some money there. And I was on the streets, begging. I made enough to buy me some of the stuff. It wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares away, but I didn’t have any panic attacks while I was awake. And then, well… on the first night I slept outside the shelter, someone left the book. You know the rest.”

Pursing his lips, Merlin asked, “If you don’t believe I’m… real, why did you come here?”

“I wanted to get out of that godforsaken town anyway. So… free ticket, big city.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow and Arthur flushed. “All right. So I was… intrigued. I thought maybe you were… I thought you had left the book for me. You… how old are you?”

Merlin smiled. “A bit over 1500 years old.”

“You’re quite the comedian.”

“It’s the honest truth.”

“Right. That’s written on your ID card?”

“No. Let me think… according to that, I’m 34 years old.”

“You look a bit young for that.”

“I know. I have to decide soon what to do… either age up my appearance or start over as someone else again.”

“Do you even know how crazy you sound?”

“Yes.” Merlin nodded and then threw a speculating look at Arthur. “Can you maybe try to accept who I am? Who you are?”

Standing up, Arthur went over to the window and looked at the street below for a few minutes. Then he turned around again. “Look, there are two possibilities here. One, I’m hallucinating – and I so wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. Two…”

Merlin interrupted him. “Why? As far as you told me, you dreamt of Camelot, not of today.”

“I told you, I saw you around even when you weren’t…”

“Hm. How did I look? How was I dressed? Black from head to toe, with a cape? Or,” Merlin winced, “with a tunic, boots and some sort of hideous scarf?”

Arthur stared. “How do you know that?”

“Because it’s me! And I still can very well remember what I was wearing then.”

Arthur shook his head and Merlin sighed again. “What’s your second option then?”

“That you somehow found out… and… I don’t know… maybe…” He broke off, apparently realizing how insecure he sounded.

“Found out what, Arthur? Even if I had hacked myself into the hospital’s database and got access to your files… what, do you think there is a picture of me in it? No way to take a picture of a hallucination, right? And even if there would have been one, or some sort of picture you’d drawn… what, you think I had plastic surgery to look like your ‘hallucination’? And anyway… how do you explain that you dreamt of someone looking like me when you were five years old? That was thirteen years ago.”

Arthur sat down again, head bent. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Maybe we should try and break this down a bit. You’ve said you don’t believe in magic. Maybe that’s the key? I can surely show you enough magic to convince even someone as stubborn as you are.”

Arthur looked up at him. He talked so quietly, Merlin could barely understand him. “I wish I could believe you. Believe in you.”

Arthur watched the teapot hovering in the air, filling the cup beneath it, looked at the sugar cubes flying on their own through the air into the cup in front of him with an impossibly sad face. Merlin sighed; he knew tricks like this wouldn’t really help Arthur to believe, but he ran out of ideas hours ago. He had tried everything he could think of… growing plants, thunder and lightning, an earthquake, hell, even an eclipse of the sun and Merlin was very sure this would be the talk of the century for every astronomer on earth.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered.

“No, don’t be sorry. I just don’t know how to prove to you it is true.”

“You can’t. It’s insane, a paradox. No matter what you do, I will never know…”

“It’s not insane. You are not insane. I wish I’d know a way…” Merlin paused. “Maybe this, Arthur?” He raised his right hand, and on his palm appeared a ball made out of blue light. It hovered there a moment, then the ball floated over to Arthur, who held his hand out just like Merlin. It nestled right into Arthur’s palm, as it had done a hundred times before. Arthur stared at it, then looked up at Merlin, tears in his eyes. “How… I never told anyone…” he hesitated. “Merlin?”

“I tried so hard, Arthur.” Merlin felt a tear sliding down his own cheek. “I tried so hard to send it to you. To let you know I was still there, even if I couldn’t be with you. But… it didn’t work. Her spell was too powerful. I couldn’t…” He broke off, choking.

“What happened to you? Gods, Merlin, what happened? You were supposed to be gone for two days and then… I searched for you; we all searched for you. I never stopped, my whole life I never stopped, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Viviane called to me…”

“Viviane?”

“Freya.” Merlin smiled through his tears. “You remember Freya, right? There was quite a bit of name changing going on, even then. So she wasn’t Freya, the shape-shifter, anymore, she was Viviane, the Lady of the Lake. Sounded better, I guess,” Merlin said bitterly.

“You loved her.”

“Loved her? Gods, Arthur. I was nineteen when I met her. I fell in love with a scared girl who lived under a terrible curse someone put on her and who dreamt of… I don’t know, a place, a home, where she didn’t have to be scared anymore. Then, I wanted so badly to save her, to share her dream. I failed her, of course. Believe me, Viviane had nothing to do with that girl anymore.”

“You still went.”

“Guilt. She called out for help, and I went to her. Every time. Arthur, she played me for years. She told me fairy tales about creatures who were threatening her, and I taught her my magic.” Merlin huffed. “Ah, I was never able to see through women. Show me a warlock, and I can tell you what he wants, how powerful he is. But witches? There is something about female magic… it’s more in the shadows. Anyway, that day? I knew something was off. I waited at the lake for the ferry, and for a moment, I thought I had seen Mordred’s face in the water. I should have run for my life in that second, but you know how arrogant I was then.”

“Mordred? He was there that day?”

“I don’t know. Some part of me tells he must have been there, but when I’m honest… in hindsight, I think it was a warning for me. But you also know that the Sight was never my greatest gift, let alone actually acting on something I’ve foreseen. So I stayed, arrogant, full of belief that nothing, no one could hurt me, conquer me. I was wrong. Before I even knew what was happening, Viviane threw me into that cave and put a spell on it and me.” Merlin leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. “I have to give it to her, she totally surprised me. First I was pissed off, but soon enough I found out that my magic didn’t work in that godsforsaken cave. For years, I didn’t believe it. I raged against it. I… I was stuck in time. I didn’t get older, I wasn’t hungry or thirsty.” He opened his eyes again and looked at Arthur. “She showed me things.”

A pale and worried looking Arthur leaned forward. “What things?”

“You.” Merlin swallowed. “It was all about you. I saw you searching for me. I saw you getting older. And then… Lancelot. Guinevere. The Grail. Mercia.” His voice became quieter and quieter. “Camlann. Mordred.” Merely a whisper now.

When he felt a hand on his back, Merlin startled badly. He hadn’t even noticed Arthur standing up and sitting down beside him on the couch; he had completely forgotten his surroundings, overwhelmed by images from the past. Arthur began to rub circles over Merlin’s back, and Merlin tried to withdraw, to no avail. “I failed you.”

“Merlin…”

“I did! I didn’t listen, either to those who knew better or to my own instincts! I let you die, alone, on that filthy battlefield!”

Arthur still looked at him and for the first time since they’d met again, Merlin felt the power shifting between them. Arthur’s body might be eighteen years old, but his eyes certainly weren’t; his eyes belonged to the king he once had been. Merlin on the other hand, was scared all of a sudden and felt too young.

“How did you escape?”

“What?”

“The cave. How did you escape?”

Gods, even his voice is deeper now. “Years later. I was quite insane then.” Arthur huffed and Merlin tried to smile without really managing it. “After I don’t know how many years, they finally came together again, all three of them. They celebrated your death every year, you know? And that year, they did it right in front of my cave. Viviane let me see them, but then, she made a mistake. Morgana wanted to take a look at me, and Mordred,” Merlin barked out a laugh, “I don’t know, I guess he wanted to piss on me. Viviane didn’t want to open the way, but the others told her they could easily overpower me. Big mistake.”

“You killed them?”

Feeling ashamed, Merlin shook his head. “No. But I hurt them, I still do. As I said, I was completely insane then.”

“They are still around?”

“Oh yes. That night, I put my mark on them. They will never be free of me.”

“What does that mean?”

Merlin licked his dry lips. “There are some things you don’t want to know, believe me.”

“You know as well as I do that this isn’t true.”

“Arthur, I’m not the man…” Merlin broke off when he was suddenly jostled. Before he could do more than squeak, he was dragged back almost on top of Arthur and put into a half-serious headlock. He heard Arthur laugh above him.

“Merlin, spare me the cliché, all right? I’m not an idiot, I know you’ve changed! But under all that bluster, you’re still the same twit you were all those years ago.”

“Arthur!”

“Keep your secrets for now, old man. But know I will drag them out of you in no time.”

Merlin, still in a most undignified position half on Arthur’s lap and half on the couch, stared up at Arthur’s laughing face and something inside him shattered. Unable to stop it, he started to cry and watched Arthur’s smile vanish. In the next moment he was crushed to Arthur’s chest, dragged completely onto his lap, and found himself in one of those bear hugs Arthur always had been so good at.

“Don’t you cry, don’t you cry, Merlin, you hear me?”

“I failed you,” Merlin croaked. It was the utter truth; a truth Arthur had never understood.

“Ah Gods, Merlin. You were the only one, the only one, who has never failed me. Never.”

“I always have.”

“Never.” The hug got impossibly tighter, and Merlin gave up, turned his face into Arthur’s sweater and cried for only the Gods knew how long on Arthur’s chest, until he finally passed out.

When he woke up again, Merlin was lying on the couch, covered by one of the patchwork quilts. Groaning, he sat up, rubbed his hands over his face and then combed his fingers through his hair. He felt like death warmed over. Blinking wearily, he looked around; the only living being besides him in the room was Prince who slept peacefully in his basket in front of the fireplace. But there were sounds coming from the kitchen, so he stood up to investigate. He wasn’t really keen on facing Arthur after that crying fit he had had, but there was nothing for it; he couldn’t exactly hide under the couch.

About to enter the kitchen, Merlin stopped on the threshold. Right in front of him was Arthur’s sweatpants covered ass, while the owner of said ass hung his head over in one of Merlin’s chest freezers, searching for only the Gods knew what.

“What are you doing?”

Arthur jumped a bit, turned around quickly and smiled dazzlingly at him. Merlin leaned on the doorframe; he still wasn’t used to a smiling Arthur.

“I’m looking for something to go with the green stuff in your fridge. And while there are many interesting things in here… interesting and disturbing things, I may add- there isn’t any meat. At least, no meat I want to eat. Please tell me you don’t eat the things in here either?”

“You’re in the wrong freezer.”

“I’m in the wrong freezer? I’m not in it; I’m just looking into it.”

“You’re looking into the wrong freezer. Take a look at that one,” Merlin pointed to the other side of the kitchen, “and stay out of this one.”

“Will do!” Arthur banged the open freezer door closed, bounced over to the other one, and exclaimed, after opening it, “That’s what I call a freezer!”

Merlin still stood at the door, not being able to move a muscle. He didn’t know what to say, hell, he didn’t know what to think. Arthur seemed completely changed; gone was the depressed, ill young man, as well as the suddenly older and wiser man who had appeared so briefly at Merlin’s break-down. This Arthur Merlin was not familiar with; he had never known a care-free behaving Arthur.

“What about some roasted pork?” Arthur asked, turning around with a big piece of pork in hand, waving it like some kind of prize.

“Pork’s fine. Arthur? Er… how are you feeling?”

Arthur put the meat down on the counter; his face became serious. “Don’t worry, I’m not losing it. I feel… okay, I guess. Pins and needles like crazy in my arms and legs, and for some weird reason in my nose, and I can imagine all too well finding me some pills, but… I don’t really want any, you know? Not anymore. Not with what I know now. I don’t know what will happen when the nightmares or panic attacks come back but right now? No.” Arthur threw a glance at him and grimaced slightly. “You don’t look exactly convinced.”

Merlin shook his head. “No. No, it’s not… it’s just… you were… you are…”

“Jittery, I know. And my damn hands are still shaking. But I do my best to ignore it; nothing I can do against it. But…” Arthur smiled again and Merlin immediately had trouble breathing properly, “… I’m just really… I don’t know. I never saw so much food in one place in my life. At least, in this life. And I’m hungry as hell all of a sudden.”

Merlin swallowed, wincing at the clicking sound his throat made. “Then roast pork it is. With carrots and potatoes?”

“Sounds great!” Arthur unwrapped the frozen meat and put it in a bowl, then he looked around. “Do you have a microwave?”

“I don’t need one.”

Arthur looked confused for a second, then his glance fell on the already thawed out meat. “Ah, of course.” He grinned. “Handy as always.”

“Need some help with the carrots and potatoes?”

“Please! Oh and… please tell me there is nothing human in the other freezer.”

“You knew about Lancelot and Guinevere from the beginning, didn’t you?”

Merlin, who was just about to cut up the peeled potatoes, tensed and put down the knife. Turning around, he glanced warily at Arthur who leaned on the fridge. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When, Arthur? When? When you were a prince and I was your manservant? When you were King and I was still your manservant? On your wedding day, when I was still your manservant?”

“Wow, touchy. Merlin, you know as well as I do, you were never really my manservant!”

Merlin stared at Arthur a few more seconds, and then lowered his gaze. “I don’t know. I… I didn’t want to hurt you. You were so in love with her and at the beginning, I’d have never thought that they really…” He broke off when he heard humorless laughter coming from Arthur.

“Yes, I was so in love.” Arthur shook his head. “And so stupid. You know, Gwen was safe. When I think about the princesses my father had thrown at me… Gwen wasn’t demanding.”

“Gwen wasn’t demanding?”

This time, Arthur’s laugh was for real. “Yeah, I know what you think of… she was bitchy as hell, I give you that, especially after the wedding. But I didn’t mean it that way; she loved to discuss things and get into fights with me, but I never minded that. No, she was very undemanding when it came to romantic things, like taking strolls under the moon in the rose garden, you know? Or later, when it came to sex.” Arthur huffed. “As I said, I was stupid. Loving someone because they’re safe, that’s settling, right? And maybe she couldn’t say no to me, either, for the same reasons. Merlin, I don’t think she really believed she would someday marry me. And then, when my father died far earlier than anyone would have thought, I had managed to back both of us into a corner where I couldn’t see a way out. I couldn’t go back on my word, and apparently, neither could she. The marriage was doomed from the start.”

Arthur went over to the table, sat down and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Getting a beer out of the fridge, Merlin wished for something stronger but doubted the wisdom of drinking vodka while having this conversation. In fact, he didn’t want to have this conversation at all, sober or not.

“I mean, I’m not an idiot. I knew there was something between them; I just didn’t think they would ever act on it… which probably makes me an idiot, in hindsight. Hell, Merlin, you knew how it was back then. Today I would get a divorce and wish them luck but then? I tried, I really did.” Arthur sighed. “No, I didn’t. I was glad she wanted her own chambers. I was glad she didn’t feel so well so often, so I didn’t have to… you know. Not that ‘not feeling well’ meant that she couldn’t race through the castle, or make visits or take a ride… on whatever.” Arthur grinned a bit, then threw a glance at Merlin. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, maybe some input on the matter? Or maybe you could tell me why you look like you wanted to kill someone?”

Merlin flinched badly at that. Seeking for a distraction, he said, “You’re taking this pretty well. Linda said something about you badmouthing Gwen in front of Lancelot not so long ago.”

Arthur laughed out loud and sputtered at the same time, somehow swallowing the coffee and not spitting it out again. “Aw man, how does she know about that?”

“Gwaine told her.”

“Ah shit.” Arthur shook his head. “Honestly? When I said that she wasn’t even there; I wanted to provoke him into a fight with me… I really wanted to punch him in the nose, I still do.”

“Not Gwen?”

Arthur looked horrified. “Firstly, I would never hit a woman and secondly… nah. It was more my fault than hers…” Merlin bit on his lips hard while hearing this, “… but hell, Lancelot? You know how he was… all noble and knightly and whatnot. He should have kept his hands off her, or at least, he could have come to me with it and just told me, you know?”

“You’re joking, right? He could have come to you? He was your best friend! You’re right about one thing, he should have kept his hands off her but you know what? She should have kept her hands to herself, too! I will never understand why you…” Merlin broke off when Arthur shook his head.

“My best friend? Are you mad? He was never my ‘best friend’. You were.”

“I wasn’t there anymore,” Merlin croaked.

“And that would change what exactly? You still were my best friend. Merlin, you were the only one I could really talk to, ever. What changed was that I closed up after you vanished.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Viviane showed me what had happened after you found out and they ran away. Excuse me for saying so, but I don’t exactly buy your cool attitude… you totally lost it then.”

“Of course I lost it! What… they cuckolded me! In front of the whole fucking kingdom! Everybody knew about it! How do you think I should have reacted? Bid them farewell and suppressed a few tears?”

“You started a war over them!”

“No!” Arthur held up a hand and then pointed at Merlin. “I did so not start a war over them, I started a war because they ran to… hey, hold on. What is this really about?”

Merlin stood up, got another beer and threw the fridge door closed so violently everything in it rattled for some time. So he wasn’t heartbroken and hurt, it was just about his fucking pride. Gods, what have I done?

“Merlin?”

“What?” Merlin asked reluctantly, sitting down.

“What aren’t you telling me? And don’t even try to bullshit me, I know that look! Spit it out!”

Merlin hugged himself, pretending to only cross his arms. Looking at Arthur, he saw him raising his eyebrows. Honesty, my ass. He will leave me over this, I know he will leave me.

“Merlin…”

“I killed them.”

Arthur stared. “You… what?”

“I killed them.” Merlin got up again, turned away and closed his eyes. His hands grabbed the edge of the sink; he could feel potato peel under them. Roasted pork, potatoes and carrots… He felt like throwing up. Behind him, he heard Arthur standing up and his heart took a nose-dive. That’s it, then. He jumped badly when a hand landed gently on his back.

“Merlin, sit down again, all right? Sheesh, you look like you really should sit down!”

Merlin let Arthur drag him back to the table and push him onto a chair. Then, Arthur sat down right beside him, shoved the cup of coffee aside and took a swallow from Merlin’s beer. “Now… slowly please. You killed them? What happened?”

Merlin stared down at his hands on the table; he didn’t dare to look at Arthur. He felt like he wouldn’t ever be able to look at him again. “I told you how I escaped. When I was… finished with them,” he swallowed and then tensed when Arthur interrupted him.

“You know, I wanted to ask you before… why the hell is Mordred still alive? I’m not exactly sure anymore about everything that had happened at Camlann but I know I killed the bastard before I keeled over myself.”

“Either he faked his death or it was one of his facsimiles he had running around… and he only shortly possessed the body of it.”

“Oh lovely. Zombies. Sorry, I’ve interrupted you.”

Merlin thought for a short moment about just continuing with what happened to Mordred and the others –suddenly, that seemed far easier to tell than the other story- but he knew Arthur wouldn’t go for it, not now.

“Well, I… I searched for Lancelot and Guinevere. I found them in Scotland.” Merlin paused again; he could see what had happened then all too well before his inner eye. “They were quite the cozy couple. And when they saw me, Lancelot…” Merlin stopped and shook his head. He couldn’t tell this to Arthur. He listened to his heart hammering in his ears and Gods! He didn’t want to be here right now. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Arthur leaning close, and then his hand settled again on Merlin’s back. “Lancelot did what?”

“Lancelot smiled at me. He smiled at me as if he was really happy to see me.” Merlin made a choked sound. “Gwen didn’t. She knew. She knew all about me and why I was there. I descended on them like… it was over in seconds. Lancelot couldn’t even draw his sword.”

Silence. Merlin gritted his teeth and waited for the verdict. “What do you mean… Gwen knew all about you?”

Freezing, Merlin thoughts raced back to what he had said. Oh no. I didn’t… His eyes were now glued to the tabletop; he didn’t answer.

“Merlin?”

He didn’t have to answer, did he?

“Merlin, look at me.”

Yeah, sure.

He didn’t have to answer, and he surely didn’t have to look at this man right now. Then Merlin saw Arthur’s left hand, the one that was still free and not resting on his back, moving toward his face. Now, that was even worse than looking at Arthur, Merlin couldn’t stand more touching. He leaned back and looked up…. and saw Arthur’s eyes widen.

And all of a sudden, Merlin knew, he knew that everything he had ever felt for Arthur was written all over his face. The rather impressive flight impulse he had suppressed for some time broke free, and he jumped up, dodged Arthur’s hands and ran.

Sadly, it turned out that while he could run really fast, Merlin had as good as no brain cells left at all. Instead of running out of the house or transporting himself to the other side of the Earth he landed on the hall on the second floor, a barking Great Dane and Arthur hot on his heels. Merlin got stuck between the choice of either locking himself into the bathroom or the bedroom, and Arthur was already close enough to touch when he finally made a dash for the bedroom and tried to close the door behind him. Too late. Arthur and Prince piled in after him, and Arthur managed to take hold of one of his arms. Totally freaked, Merlin lashed out at Arthur with his magic and… nothing happened. Oh, Arthur hesitated for a moment –probably because Merlin’s eyes had changed color again- but then, he raised an eyebrow. “Interesting,” he said, grabbed Merlin around the waist and shooed Prince out of the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Let go of me!”

“Make me!” Arthur grinned at him.

“This isn’t even remotely funny!”

“You’re right about that.”

And then Arthur’s face came closer and closer, and before Merlin could remind himself that he was far too old to be so scared and before he found enough of the few brain cells he still had left to stop this, Arthur’s lips met his and Merlin simply folded under the kiss. Clutching Arthur’s arms to stay upright, he thought he heard the voice of reason in his mind screeching something at him, but then Arthur’s tongue swept slightly over his lips and he couldn’t even remember what reason was. He made a pathetically gurgling sound and opened his mouth; Arthur’s tongue immediately moved in to stay there. Merlin held on to Arthur for dear life; he could feel Arthur’s fingertips sliding under his shirt and running slowly up on his spine. Shuddering all over, Merlin tried to get some, at least some grip on the sensations raking over his body, to no avail. The moment he started to draw back a bit, Arthur tightened the hold he had on his waist and deepened the kiss even more. He tasted like coffee and beer and for some inexplicable reason like something close to cardamom. And he was warm, so warm.

Finally, Merlin simply let his head fall back to get some air into his lungs. He gulped in some, but found out that there didn’t seem to be enough air left in the room; at least not enough to feed his brain some much needed oxygen. Since they were close in height, and Arthur still hadn’t let him go, they were pressed together from chest down to their legs and this was really more than enough for him to… suddenly, Merlin felt Arthur’s hands shifting on his back and for one moment, he wondered dimly what would happen if Arthur actually let him go. He would probably drop like a rock. But Arthur didn’t release him; to the contrary, he turned both of them around, one hand sliding into Merlin’s hair, dragging him into yet another kiss, while he steered them slowly in the direction of the bed. And this was the moment when all kinds of warning bells started to ring in Merlin’s head, and this time, they didn’t sound like Camelot’s warning bells; the noise was so loud that Merlin had the feeling of standing directly under Emmanuel at Notre Dame while it was tolling.

Ripping his mouth away, Merlin somehow managed to bring one hand up to Arthur’s cheek, shoving him back a little. “Wait. Stop. This isn’t a good idea.” Even the still screeching voice of reason fell silent in awe when it heard this most intelligent sentence.

Arthur nodded sagely. “I know you think that,” he answered, took another step and let both of them drop onto the bed. The last bit of breath Merlin’s lungs still held whooshed out of him due to Arthur’s weight on top of him.

Merlin wheezed, Arthur straightened up a bit but not to say anything or let Merlin take a breath, no, he started to unbutton Merlin’s shirt.

“Arthur, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m undressing you.”

Merlin had always hated it with a passion when Arthur decided to play dumb and answered rhetorical questions. He almost asked, “Why?” but in the last moment, he stopped himself. He really didn’t want to hear the answer, not spoken in that voice. So he merely shook his head, not knowing what to do.

Eyes narrowed, Arthur suddenly looked at him. “Did I misread things?”

“What?”

“Well, this,” Arthur rolled his hips against Merlin’s erection, “tells me you do want it. If you don’t, tell me.”

Merlin stared up at him. The problem was he wasn’t able to look away from Arthur’s eyes. Under his hands, he could feel that the body in his arms was far too thin, too young for him. But Arthur’s eyes… they were the same they always had been. He knew he should stop this, but again, he tried to avert his eyes and couldn’t. It was as if Arthur had him spell-bound.

“Merlin?”

Merlin decided to just continue wheezing.

A slow smile spread on Arthur’s face. “All right then. Can you maybe try and, for once, just… go with the flow?”

Merlin wheezed again.

“I take this as a yes,” Arthur murmured, lowered his head and pressed a damp kiss on Merlin’s neck. Groaning embarrassingly loud, Merlin let his head fall to the side, baring even more of his throat, giving in. Just this once, he told himself. One time. Something inside his head snorted loudly at that thought but Merlin ignored it.

His shirt had completely fallen open by now, and Merlin wanted to even the field a bit. He took hold of Arthur’s sweater and t-shirt under it and dragged it over Arthur’s head, moaning with Arthur when their naked chests collided. Things became a bit hazy for Merlin then; the room swayed a bit from time to time and he was sure that it kind of changed… in some moments he could see a canopy, Camelot-red, over his head. Arthur seemed to want to devour him, and Merlin didn’t do anything besides lie under him, like a complete moron. Clothes vanished and Arthur chuckled a bit, which probably meant Merlin’s magic was running wild again; he certainly didn’t do a thing… he wasn’t able to cast even the simplest spell. And every time Merlin’s brain tried to surface Arthur seemed to know it and slid upwards again, kissing him, drowning every thought Merlin might have had until the only thing he could hear or think of was the whooshing sound in his ears.

One thing Merlin did notice on some level was that Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what to do with him; but that thought and what it meant let him tumble even faster to the edge. He somehow managed to move a bit; he let his arms wander up Arthur’s arms until they landed on his bony but still broad shoulders. Then he combed through the blond hair above him. He had always been fascinated by the blond locks, from the first moment he had laid eyes on the man. Arthur began to shift erratically over him, breathing heavily. His hips moved up and down quickly, pressing their erections together. Stretching out under him and spreading his legs wide, Merlin’s hand twisted in Arthur’s hair; he wanted another kiss, he wanted Arthur’s lips swallowing the embarrassing sounds Merlin made, but Arthur just moaned loudly, swerving, and then his mouth found Merlin’s neck again. He bit down, not too gently, and that was it. Crying out, Merlin came, head thrown back so far it hurt. About a second later, Arthur froze above him, almost growling, and came apart, too. He said something, but Merlin couldn’t understand him, couldn’t even see him; the only thing he did manage was clinging to the sweat-covered body lying on top of him. His magic swirled around them, the room and even Arthur seemed to change again and again until Merlin wasn’t sure anymore where he was and who the man in his arms was; the King of Camelot with longer hair and beard or the young, homeless Arthur he had found on the streets a week ago. His fingernails were digging into Arthur’s back like talons, not willing to let go. Arthur raised his head from Merlin’s shoulder, asking “Merlin?” but even that didn’t help, his voice sounded off, too.

Almost sobbing, Merlin lifted his head and thankfully, Arthur seemed to understand. He kissed him, deep and surely, anchoring him, until Merlin finally stopped shaking. Then Arthur slid off him without releasing him, wiped them down cursorily with the blanket, and crushed him into the next bear hug while dragging Merlin’s head onto his chest. Merlin thought he heard Arthur mumbling about things being all right, and really, he should have said something but couldn’t because he was fading too fast. The last thing Merlin noticed was Arthur wrapping the sheets around them, then he was out like a light.

Part 5

Glow of a Rose (3/6)

silkmoth101 — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 22:09:51 GMT

Part 1

Part 2

The ringing of the phone wakened Merlin rudely. Not that he had slept oh so peacefully after what had happened the day before, but still. “What the…” he groaned, fumbling blindly for the phone. “’llo?” With his other hand, he slapped at the lamp on the nightstand, and then glanced at the clock. Almost 3 am. “Hello?” He pressed the phone closer to his ear, but still, he couldn’t hear anyone speaking, just some weird rattling sound. “Hello?”

“… uh… I… I can’t…”

Merlin sat up. “Arth… John, is that you?”

“… uh, yes.”

Suddenly recognizing what that weird sound was –Arthur’s teeth were chattering- Merlin was already out of the bed, picking up his clothes. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“P… Prince’s sick.”

Merlin, buttoning up his jeans, looked out of the window. It was pouring again. “Where are you?”

“I’m just… sitting here.”

“All right. Stay put! I’m there in a few minutes, okay? Just… stay where you are!”

Merlin barely could hear the “Yeah,” then the line cut off. He put on a long sleeved shirt, grabbed his coat and his wallet, and then stood still for a second. With all his might, he resisted the overwhelming need that told him to just go, appear right next to Arthur out of thin air and forget about hiding his magic. But he couldn’t. Not only because there was apparently a huge, sick Great Dane that had to be transported to a vet in the middle of the night, no, there was also the fact that the nagging feeling in his neck about Arthur had just turned into warning bells coming from the protection spell. Arthur’s condition had become so bad that he was now in actual danger, and that meant he really needed the car. He had read everything on withdrawal symptoms and he was sure he could help with some of them, but he didn’t know what to do with things like hallucinations. Merlin would not risk driving Arthur into a psychotic episode by suddenly using magic in front of him. So he got his car keys, but didn’t resist transporting himself right into his car. He floored it, driving like a bat out of hell through the empty streets at night.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know. Doesn’t matter, I’ve already found a vet who’s on emergency call. No, stop, I’ll take him! You stay down there for a minute.”

Merlin heaved the dripping wet and badly coughing dog onto the backseat then rushed around the car, opened the trunk and got out two blankets. One he laid over Prince, the other was thrown on the passenger seat.

“Your seats…”

“My seats? Do I look like I care? And didn’t I just tell you to stay put?”

Damn the man! When Merlin had arrived he had found Arthur lying on top of his sleeping bag, rivulets of rain running over his face, eyes closed, dog in his arms. And for one terrifying second he had thought… Merlin bit so hard on his lower lip that he tasted blood immediately. In his mind, there was an endless circle going on, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Leave it to Arthur to make Merlin feel like the worst fuck-up ever, like a totally helpless fuck-up for the first time in centuries.

Seeing Arthur swaying badly, barely managing to stay on his feet, Merlin’s hands shot out and grabbed Arthur’s arms. “Come on, now…”

“Please, can I come with you? I don’t want to leave him al…”

Merlin suddenly decided he had enough, and simply exploded. “Who the fuck do you think I am? You think I would leave you here, so they can pick up your dead body from the street tomorrow?”

“I’m not dying so what are you...”

“You look like you’re dead already, man! And now get into the fucking car!”

“My bag…”

“I’ll get your bloody bag!”

Convinced that steam was coming out of his ears, Merlin manhandled Arthur onto the passenger seat, closed the car door violently, and then dashed over the slippery pavement to get the damned backpack. He threw it in the trunk, the whole time trying to get a grip on his temper. The Fates are laughing at me, I just know it, he thought grimly. I feel like I’m eighteen years old again. And this was not good at all; just like then, his magic seemed to be resolved to come alive on its own -it had, without Merlin wanting to, dried up Arthur’s hair and clothes as well as Prince’s fur. Merlin could only hope that Arthur was feeling too sick and too out of it to notice anything amiss.

When Merlin climbed into the car, he threw a quick glance at Arthur and saw him shiver all over, no matter the already dry clothes, no matter the motor had been running the whole time or that the heat was turned on all the way, sending waves of hot air over them. Arthur didn’t notice Merlin at all; he just stared seemingly at nothing, shaking like a leaf. He was beyond pale now, and the alarm sounds from the protection spell –that for some reason always had sounded exactly like the warning bells in Camelot- reached a crescendo.

Muttering again “fuck, fuck” under his breath, Merlin dived for his bag and pulled out a bottle of water and two pills. “Here, take these,” he ordered, shoving the pills into one of Arthur’s hands and then opened the water bottle.

Arthur startled out of his state and looked at him, wide-eyed, asking, “What are these?”

“It’s just Tylenol,” Merlin answered and added inwardly, with a bit of magical oomph. “I won’t give you anything else, you know that.”

Arthur didn’t move a muscle, just continued to stare at him, and Merlin lost it again. “Goddammit, Arthur, for once in your life, do as I say and swallow them, or I swear to the Gods I will shove them down your throat myself!”

Staring some more, Arthur finally nodded, “Yeah, yeah, okay,” and swallowed the pills. Merlin barely waited until he saw Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbing twice, then he reached over, took the bottle away and laid his hand on Arthur’s forehead. Losing consciousness immediately, Arthur sagged against the side window. Merlin drew him back close frantically and let his magic roam freely over and through Arthur’s body. He pushed down the rapid heartbeat and increased the too low blood-pressure as far as he dared, and also managed to calm down Arthur’s more than upset stomach and bowels. Merlin couldn’t do much against the fever at the moment; he needed his potions for that, so he hoped the magically enhanced Tylenol would do the trick, at least for a few hours.

Exhausted, more from being scared than anything else, Merlin slumped back into his seat for a minute, just to straighten up again at once when he heard the rattling coughs coming from Prince. He twisted around to pet the dog’s head, and Prince tried to lick his hand with a too hot and too dry tongue. “You will be fine,” Merlin croaked. “You both will be fine, you hear me?”

Turning back, Merlin started to drive into the direction of the vet’s office, and it wasn’t until he parked in front of it when he remembered that he had called Arthur ‘Arthur’, instead of ‘John’.

Totally drained, Merlin drove the car down into the underground garage of his house. He turned off the lights and pressed another button on the remote, hearing the garage door click shut behind him. Then he allowed himself to close his eyes in the utter darkness around him and to just breathe for a few minutes.

The last hour had been arduous, to say the least. Not that there had been any real problems; the lady vet had been very nice, once she had found out that it was indeed an emergency. Prince had pneumonia; he apparently had been already ill at the shelter, and the following vaccinations had lowered his immune system so the bronchitis had worsened into said full blown pneumonia. The vet had been quite angry about her colleague who had obviously administered the inoculations without examining Prince thoroughly. Anyway, Prince was now in good hands, hanging on an IV-drip at the vet’s office, getting the antibiotics and fluids he needed. He hadn’t been happy to be left there in a cage again; Merlin had reassured him a few times he could come home in a few days, much to the vet’s amusement and to Merlin’s utter mortification. Finally, he had said his good-byes to the vet and Prince and practically run back to his car. The whole time he had been in the office, Merlin had been afraid Arthur’s condition would worsen or he would wake up, leave the car and become road-kill. Fretting over Arthur, monitoring him and at the same time having a halfway intelligent conversation with the vet had taken everything out of him, so Merlin was beyond glad to be finally at home.

With a sigh, Merlin acknowledged that there wasn’t any true reason for relief yet. Not. At. All. Sighing once more, Merlin left the car and turned on the garage lights. Then he opened the door to the basement, turned the lights on there, too, and stared for a while at the very steep stairs that lead to the hall of his house. He wondered if he should just float Arthur up there into the living room or better straight to the bedroom on the second floor but then decided against it. No magic, not yet. It would be just his luck if Arthur woke up while hovering four feet above the ground. Well, that left him with the not so nice challenge to wake up the ill man down here and somehow drag him upstairs.

Merlin opened the passenger door as silently as possible, freed the limp body from the seat belt and laid a hand on Arthur’s forehead. Shit, he was still burning up. The rest of Arthur’s condition seemed to be… well, not all right but in manageable parameters; Merlin’s magic still had a good grip on his metabolism. But the same had seemed to be true yesterday, Merlin thought, So don’t get too complacent, old man. It was the truth, of course. The day before, Arthur had been feeling well, even good when Merlin had left him in the evening. Merlin had hoped his magic would be able to somehow heal Arthur on its own, maybe even completely; otherwise he wouldn’t have left Arthur at all. Hope and Foresight. You should know better by now.

Merlin’s hand slid down to Arthur’s left cheekbone, noticing the fine sheen of sweat covering his whole face. “Hey. Wake up, huh?” He said quietly, not wanting to spook Arthur. When he didn’t react, Merlin let a bit of magic flow through his palm, pushing a little. “Hey.” Dark blond eyelashes fluttered, then Merlin looked into confused blue eyes. “It’s all right now, you’re home.”

“Merlin?”

For a moment, Merlin thought he would go down, fall on his knees. The fingers on his left hand clawed at the roof of the car, desperately looking for something to get a hold on. He closed his eyes against the threat of tears and thought, Not now, not now! Later. Get a grip, don’t scare him! Blinking rapidly, Merlin smiled. “Yes, Arthur. You have nothing to fear now.” Arthur smiled back at him, a bit dopily, eyes still locked on Merlin’s face, and nestled his cheek against Merlin’s hand.

Merlin swallowed hard. He was of course aware of the fact that Arthur was not in his right mind. He didn’t need to see the wildly dilated pupils or feel the heat under his palm to know that Arthur would probably not even remember what had happened this night. But still, whatever might come, whatever might befall both of them in the next, so difficult days, this was the moment Merlin had lived for. Centuries, Ages waiting for this voice to call his name.

As thin as Arthur was, he was still damn heavy. The moment Merlin had managed to drag him up to the hallway, he gave up on the thought of getting him straight to the bedroom; he just pushed Arthur into the living room where both of them crashed onto one of the couches. Merlin closed his eyes for maybe a second, but the heat he felt coming from Arthur’s body got him moving again.

“Please stay here for a moment, all right? I’ll get you something for the fever.”

Arthur glanced up at him and nodded, but he didn’t look like he had understood what Merlin had said… he actually looked like he would fall asleep again in no time.

“Hold that thought,” Merlin said inanely and left for the kitchen, smiling a bit. So far, things had gone smoother than he had thought; the warning bells were silent, his magic seemed to do wonders for Arthur’s condition – as it always had back in Camelot.

Opening one of his freezers that held the more exotic ingredients he needed, Merlin was just about to prepare a potent, fever reducing potion that stank to high heavens but would make Arthur feel better in no time, when he was rudely reminded that The Fates loved to fuck with content souls. There was a sudden yelp coming from the living room, followed by a crash and the unmistakable sounds of retching. By a hair’s breadth, Merlin avoided dropping the cup with the half-finished potion in it; he sat it down quickly on the kitchen table, grabbed a bowl, a bottle of water and towels and ran back to Arthur. When he arrived, a pungent odor hit his nostrils and he almost puked right on top of Arthur, who still hung over the armrest, choking.

So much for having a grip on anything, Merlin thought, breathing through the mouth. Arthur had not only lost control of his stomach but also of his bowels, and, to top this, the horrified look on his face told Merlin that Arthur had come out of his stupor as well, which was really awesome timing. Keeping a tight hold on his powers that wanted to jump on Arthur immediately, Merlin got a bit closer to help, noticed the reason for the crashing sound he had heard –the glass table in front of the couch had toppled over and broken- and managed in the last moment to prevent Arthur falling amidst the shards when Arthur shrank back from him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Take it easy, okay?”

“I’m sorry! God, I’m so sorry and…”

“Nah. Couldn’t stand the table anyway… and I hated the rug. Now…”

“Please, don’t.”

Merlin crouched down beside the mess on the floor, setting down the bowl, towel and water –he wouldn’t need them anyway- to be able to look at Arthur and not down at him. “What?”

“Please, I… I can’t go to a hospital. I can’t. Please.”

“I promise you. Hey!” Merlin laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to get his attention; Arthur was looking anywhere but at him. “Listen to me: No hospital, okay? I promise you!”

“I… I…”

“I know. It’s all right; none of this is your fault. We’ll deal, okay? How’s your stomach now?”

He got his answer when Arthur’s eyes widened; the bowl was needed after all.

Merlin threw the ratty jeans and boxers into a plastic bag, knotted it up and took it out to the trash can. After some consideration, the socks went in there, too. He itched to also throw away the t-shirt, sneakers and jacket but knew he couldn’t just decide what happened to Arthur’s clothes. Going back inside, he flung shirt and jacket into the laundry basket, washed his hands and started on the potion again; the other one had gotten cold and therefore congealed. He tried to keep his thoughts on the rather mundane task, but had no luck. What he really wanted to do was to hit something… or someone.

By now, Arthur was clean and safe in Merlin’s bed, bowl and chamber pot at hand – and wasn’t that the joke of the century, that Merlin needed to deal with chamber pots again?- but what had happened in the bathroom before, had Arthur mortified and Merlin exhausted. It wasn’t a hardship for Merlin to clean up Arthur, neither was it disgusting. He had fallen back quickly in the mindset he had had while working as Gaius’ apprentice; and in Camelot, there had been much dealing with feces and other body fluids. What had been exhausting was trying to keep Arthur comfortable… which had been impossible. This wasn’t a new experience to Merlin either; Arthur had always hated it when he hadn’t been able to care for himself, no matter how sick or tired he had been. The difference now was that Merlin couldn’t just use magic to help and protect Arthur’s pride. Arthur hadn’t called Merlin by his name again, and even if he had… Merlin wanted Arthur lucid and he wanted to know Arthur’s story before he would show him who and what he was.

But Merlin had been really shocked when he had seen the state Arthur’s body was in. There were far too many scars for a guy that young, far too many bruises –and where the hell had he gotten these bruises? Merlin had been there the last week, hadn’t he?- and, the worst of it all, how goddamned thin Arthur was. The Arthur Merlin remembered, the older Arthur, had always whined about how much weight he gained by only looking at food… and how much he had resented Merlin for eating like a pig and staying lean. But this Arthur? Only bones. Ribs, collarbones, hipbones… everything was sticking out as if trying to poke through Arthur’s skin. Damn it to seventh hell, Merlin thought. I was never that thin, not even when I was fourteen and there hadn’t been a thing to eat in Ealdor thanks to crop failures.

Sighing, Merlin shook his head, took the cup with the potion and a pot with chamomile tea and carried it upstairs to the bedroom. It would be quite some time until he could feed Arthur solid food; it would be hard enough to make sure he kept the needed fluids down without being too overt in using magic. Maybe he’ll believe in that insane Reiki story again.

Merlin entered the bedroom quietly, not wanting to startle Arthur if he should be asleep, but one look told him that Arthur was wide awake and… agitated.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“The hell.” Merlin put down pot and cup quickly, and then took hold of Arthur’s arms… or he tried to. He managed to grab the left arm, but Arthur drew back his right one and swung his fist at Merlin’s face. Merlin blocked it and shoved Arthur back on the bed with both hands; then, he had to jump back fast to avoid a kick from Arthur’s legs.

“Stop that shit, dammit!”

“Let me go!”

“No. The only place you’re going is to the bathroom, if you think you can make it there. Apart from that, you’re staying in bed. You fever is up to 104, where do you think you’re going? To a cemetery?”

“I’m not…”

“What? You’re not ill, your fever is not up through the roof, you can stand on your feet without falling over? You’re all of that! You may be still able to kick me, but believe me, you wouldn’t even make it downstairs without breaking your neck! So calm down, okay?”

Arthur stared at him out of huge eyes, and Merlin relented immediately. “Look, I know you feel like shit right now. I can help you. Now, what you need are a few days to get over the worst of it and I need a bit of trust from you. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I can’t do this.”

Merlin sighed. “In my opinion, you…” he hesitated for a moment, then carried on, “… you can do anything you really want, Arthur.”

Arthur, looking even paler than before, shook his head. “That’s not my name.”

“I think it is your name.”

What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Merlin’s inner voice yelled at him. But for some reason –while Merlin was still sure he couldn’t tell Arthur now about who John Emerson was- he knew with all he was that being John Smith wouldn’t help Arthur now. It might not be the time for the whole truth, but a bit of truth couldn’t hurt.

“You’re crazy.”

“That is entirely possible,” Merlin answered and sat down on the bed, carefully watching Arthur. “Now, do yourself and me the favor, and drink this to get the fever down.” He held out the cup to Arthur and could see the exact moment when the odor of the potion hit Arthur’s sense of smell. Arthur reeled back, his face became actually green, and Merlin thought, Fuck it! His left hand shot out and landed on Arthur’s stomach; his magic, which had been almost impossible to hold back for quite some time, flew forward almost greedily. Arthur’s whole body jerked wildly under his hand, and then Arthur looked at him, eyes full of shock and wonder.

“What… what did you do?”

“I’m helping you. Now drink this.” Merlin held out the cup again.

Seemingly against his will, Arthur took a swallow and almost choked on it. “Jesus!”

Merlin nodded, hand still on Arthur’s stomach. “I know it’s awful. But drink it now; believe me, the colder it gets, the worse it tastes.”

“This can’t get worse.”

“Do you want to eat it with a spoon? It congeals.” He had to smile a bit at Arthur’s horrified look, and then his smile became broader when Arthur gobbled the whole thing down without stopping to breathe. Arthur gasped, hand on his throat, and for a moment, Merlin wasn’t sure if the brew wouldn’t come up again, magic or not, but after a few tense seconds, Arthur relaxed against the pillows behind his back. He looked down a bit nervously at Merlin’s hand that was still resting on his body. “Now what?”

“Now there will be tea,” Merlin answered, took the cup and filled it with the chamomile tea from the pot. Then he leaned down, got the salt shaker he had kept out of sight and sprinkled some salt into the cup and gave it back to Arthur. “Drink!”

“Did you just dump salt into… oh great… chamomile tea?”

“Yes, your body needs it. And it was only a little bit, you shouldn’t taste it. Drink it, please? If I can’t get enough fluids in your body, I’ll have to hook you up on an IV-drip, and I’d rather not.”

“I’m drinking, I’m drinking!”

Merlin watched Arthur swallow the tea, refilled the cup at once and then he slowly withdrew his hand. “How’s the nausea?”

“Better.”

“Good.” Merlin looked Arthur over one more time and then stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m just getting some water and towels. I’ll be right back.”

“Look, I… thank you.”

Merlin sighed. “Don’t thank me yet. I have the feeling you will really hate me in no time.”

“I can’t. I… I can’t! Please!”

“Of course you can. You will see.”

“Let go of me! Let… Oh my god, STOP THAT!”

“I’m not doing anything. Please try to relax.”

“GET THEM OFF ME!”

“Arthur, nothing is on you. You have to…”

“PLEASE!”

“Sleep.”

“Drink this.”

“No.”

“Arthur…”

“No! I will get sick again!”

“Drink it!”

“It will be all right. Shhhhh… I promise you, Arthur, you will be all right. I promise you.”

Part 4

Glow of a Rose (2/6)

silkmoth101 — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 22:03:52 GMT

Part 1

Merlin looked down at the Golden Retriever puppy that was beside itself because someone was standing in front of its cage. In some ways, it reminded Merlin of Arthur –of how he had behaved around Guinevere in the early days, for example - but despite that he had actually asked for a Retriever or a Labrador, he wasn’t sure a puppy would be a good idea for someone who lived on the streets, not even for a few days; Merlin would –somehow- make certain that Arthur would be off the streets soon. The guy from the shelter, who was just as excited as the puppy since Merlin had shown him the papers that proved he owned a house with an actual garden, asked eagerly, “What do you think?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure I want a puppy. I was looking for a dog that…” He got interrupted by a shriek, and then a little girl literally bounced off the cage, crying, “Mommy, Mommy, this one, this one!”

The puppy obviously agreed with her because it immediately lost any interest in Merlin and showed how real excitement looked. It was almost doing summersaults. A distressed looking woman, Mommy most probably, arrived beside her daughter and said, “Lynn, I’m not sure if it’s available.” She threw a worried glance at Merlin. The guy from the shelter, Ricky –Animal Care Team stated the tag on his shirt, Ricky wasn’t impressed by her pleading look, though. “I’m very sorry, but Mr. Emerson here…”

“No, no,” Merlin interrupted quickly before tears could appear in the girl’s eyes. “I’m really not looking for a puppy. It’s all yours, and it seems it already knows it.” He smiled down at the girl –not that she was looking at him, but her mother threw him a thankful glance- then he turned around to Ricky. “Maybe you handle them for now, and I look around a bit?”

“Mr. Emerson, it’s the only Golden Retriever we have right now.”

“So you’ve said.” The guy with his docile voice annoyed Merlin to no end. He was very sure that Ricky wouldn’t remember Merlin’s chosen surname if he was wearing ratty sneakers and an old jacket. Clenching his teeth, Merlin continued. “I will take a look at the other dogs now. On my own. I will call for you if I find myself another one.” With that, he turned around and left quickly toward one of the cage tunnels.

Merlin sighed and rubbed his forehead; all the barking and woofing had given him a headache. He was really, really a cat person; cats were quiet, independent, graceful creatures. Dogs were… loud. And they drooled a lot. By now, he doubted he would find a fitting dog for Arthur; there were only about three cages left and as far as he could see, there weren’t any dogs in them. He almost turned around to leave, when he saw something dark moving in the cage furthest from him. Dark and… huge. Merlin blinked a few times. This couldn’t be a dog; it had to be a pony. Intrigued, he slowly closed the distance between him and the most sordid cage he had seen so far, only to come to a halt a few steps away and stare at the biggest, blackest, most pathetic looking dog he had ever come across in his whole life. It was a Great Dane, but still… it was too big even for that breed. When Merlin’s glance fell on the huge paws, he had the uncanny feeling that this dog wasn’t even fully-grown yet, as unbelievable as it seemed to be. Merlin stepped a little bit closer to the bars, and the beast inside slowly raised its head to look at him. It didn’t wag or bark, nor did it move forward. It just stood in the middle of its not too clean cage and stared at Merlin out of sad eyes.

“Hey you,” Merlin said silently. “What’s your name, hm?”

“His name’s Prince,” a voice answered behind him, and Merlin needed all of his willpower to not jump out of his skin. He hated, hated, hated it if someone managed to sneak up on him. He turned around slowly to… Ricky, of course, and all of a sudden he caught up with what the guy had just said. “Prince?” he asked, then bit on his lips to stop the laughter rising in his throat. Prince. Very funny, Fates.

Ricky nodded gravely. “This isn’t the right dog for you, Mr. Emerson.”

Somehow, Merlin kept a thin smile on his face. 500 years ago, he would have cursed the idiot, but he had gotten over this phase. “What’s his story?”

Ricky shrugged. “About three months ago, the police found him chained to a guardrail beside a highway. He probably became a little too big for his owners.”

“Do you have any idea how old he is?”

“Not really, but… he isn’t fully grown yet, so maybe… about a year?” Ricky looked –again- severely at Merlin, his whole demeanor saying, Let’s move on to find you a nice dog, okay? Merlin’s smile got broader. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”

Finally it seemed to dawn on Ricky that there might be a chance to get this monster dog out of the shelter. He shook his head quickly. “No, no he doesn’t bite at all! It’s just that… that…”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“He… since we don’t know what happened to him before he was found… well, he doesn’t seem to… like people. As I said, he doesn’t bite, he doesn’t even growl or bark but… he just doesn’t connect with humans.”

“Hm.”

“And he isn’t neutered yet.”

Merlin glanced at the dog. “I can see that.” Lowering his eyes, he thought, This is insane. But hell, I want to see Arthur’s face when I show him that dog. And if he doesn’t like him… ah fuck it! Merlin realized that he already liked the dog. “Well, maybe you could unlock the door so I can go in and see if he connects with me?”

After Ricky had opened the cage, Merlin entered slowly. It was one thing to hear that Prince didn’t bite, it was another thing to test if it’s true, especially when he heard the clang of the cage door getting locked behind him again. Watching Prince nervously, he took a deep breath. Normally, Merlin would have crouched down to not spook the dog, but in this case Prince would be actually towering over him, so Merlin just stepped closer and raised his hand slowly, as he had done once with a unicorn. “Hey,” he said again, quietly.

Prince looked at him a bit suspiciously but he stretched his head in Merlin’s direction. Merlin took another step toward the dog, and swore to himself that if Ricky opened his mouth now, he would hex him after all. Prince looked at him for another moment, then he suddenly whimpered and came forward, tail between his legs but… it was wagging a bit. Merlin let him snuffle his hand for a while and then, feeling quite daring, he started to pet the silky black fur that covered Prince’s head. Gods, he thought, that head is as big as a calf’s would be.

“Wow,” Ricky’s voice floated over to Merlin, “I’ve never seen him do that.”

“Yes, well, he seems to…” Merlin broke off. Prince had apparently decided that he liked Merlin a lot and jumped upwards. Merlin, startled, straightened up, too, only to find out that –when Prince settled his front paws onto Merlin’s shoulders- the dog was exactly as tall as Merlin… maybe even a bit taller. Swallowing, he continued. “He seems to connect with me just fine.”

Some… long time later, Merlin parked his BMW X3 –and right now, he was really glad he had decided to buy this huge car and not the tiny sport coupé he had fancied at first- and rested his head on the wheel, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he squinted at the clock on the dashboard. Five hours. Five fucking hours. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the stack of papers on the passenger seat and he wondered why anyone ever would think it was a good idea to get a dog. Then he remembered all the stuff in the trunk and closed his eyes again. He wasn’t sure yet what to do with it; after all, he couldn’t just dump all of it on Arthur’s sleeping bag. After banging his head on the wheel twice, Merlin sat up and turned around to look at the black monster lying on the backseat. “Was it as much fun for you as it was for me?”

Prince huffed silently, and Merlin nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have liked that needle either. But hey, blame the vet, not me.” Prince huffed again. “So… you want to meet your new master? Because, sorry, that’s not me.” Prince looked at him and Merlin nodded again. “I know. I’ve lost it. I’m talking to a dog. It’s possible I’m procrastinating.” Merlin had really looked forward to seeing Arthur’s face while he had still been at the pet shelter. But now, hours later, hours filled with waiting in quite a few township corridors, he was tired. The visit at the vet and the shopping spree he had to do afterwards hadn’t helped either. Neither did the thought that he had –maybe- done something really stupid. Arthur might like to have a dog, but Prince wasn’t exactly an average dog. It could very well be that Merlin would go home with a Great Dane this night, and spend the next years with the dog and not with Arthur.

Merlin sighed. There was nothing to do about it anymore, so he should just get it over with. He stepped out of the car and opened the back door to let Prince out as well, fastening the very, very expensive leather leash on the very, very expensive collar. “I’m sure you will like him,” he said while leading the dog towards the corner of the street, “let’s just hope he will like you, too.”

“Wait… you did… what?”

Merlin was satisfied; finally it was his turn to smirk. “Someone told me you’d like a dog. There.” It was actually more than satisfying, Merlin decided. The expression on Arthur’s face when he saw Prince had been priceless; Merlin wished he had thought about bringing a cam. Though Arthur hadn’t said, “Thank you!” yet, there was clearly no reason to worry anymore. Arthur might be beyond being astonished, but he was also absolutely delighted, as was Prince. The way these two had pounced on each other, even before Merlin had mentioned that the dog was now Arthur’s, reminded Merlin a bit of the puppy and the little girl at the shelter. He was tempted to tell Arthur about them.

“But… I can’t.” Face falling, Arthur looked up at him. How he managed to move at all was beyond Merlin, Prince was sitting on top of Arthur.

“Sure you can. Officially, he’ll be my dog, but no worries. I have no intention at all to take him away from you again.” Merlin saw doubt creep into Arthur’s eyes, and he hastily continued. “If a cop or another official asks you about him, just tell them you look after him for me.” Merlin pulled his wallet out of his pocket and held up a hand before Arthur could utter one word. “Relax. No money.” He got out one of his cards and handed it to Arthur. “If something happens, call me, no matter what time.”

“But how…”

Merlin rummaged in his bag for a moment, then drew out a box and threw it on Arthur’s blanket. “Here.”

Arthur looked at the box, then up at Merlin again. “This… I can’t…”

“It’s a cheap prepaid cell! Of course you can!”

Arthur took the box and lowered his head; Merlin could see the tips of his ears becoming pink. Sadly, it was not the only thing he could see. In all the excitement over Prince, he hadn’t noticed until now how terrible Arthur looked. He was pale with dark circles under his eyes, and the hands that were still holding the cell phone box were shaking. Merlin took a deep breath. He knew he had pushed Arthur farther than he had thought possible with the dog, the card and the cell. If he now started on Arthur about his health, it was a good bet Arthur would shove back, hard, and Merlin would lose any progress he had made this day. And still…

“Hey… you don’t look so good. Everything okay?” he asked, knowing very well that nothing was okay right now.

Arthur’s head whipped up again, eyes narrowed. “I’m fine! I… I think I caught a cold or something.”

“Or something.”

Face turning an alarmingly shade of red, Arthur snapped, “Listen, Emerson, this is no concern…”

Merlin held up both hands. “I know. No concern of mine. As you wish. Smith.”

For a moment there was silence, then Arthur murmured, “Thank you. For… what’s his name?”

“Prince.”

Arthur swallowed, opened his mouth, and then obviously choked on his own spit and started coughing so badly, Merlin almost believed in the so called cold. After a few more coughs and splutters, Arthur managed to get out, “Prince?” while wiping away tears.

“Indeed. But I’m sure you can still choose another name, he’s very young, not even a year. Oh, he isn’t fully-grown yet, either.”

Not seeming to be bothered at all by the thought of Prince becoming even bigger, Arthur muttered under his breath, “Prince. Jesus.” He stroked over the dog’s head and then he smiled. “You don’t look like a prince, you almost look like…” the rest was said so quietly Merlin wasn’t sure if he understood rightly. But if he had understood correctly, that would mean…

“What did you just say?”

“Hm?”

“Did you just say he looks like Broch?”

“Broch? What’s that?”

It’s what you called your goddamn black war stallion, murderous beast that it had been! Merlin thought. Out loud he said, “I think it’s Gaelic and it means Anger.”

“You know Gaelic?” Arthur smiled in a very weird way. “But no, I said he looks like a horse.” He continued to smile.

Heart in his throat, Merlin asked, “Arthur?”

Arthur looked down at Prince again. “You think I should call him Arthur? No way.” When he glanced up again, the weird expression was gone, replaced by something close to fear. “Anyway, thank you. He’s awesome, really.”

Merlin tried to relax his posture; he was deeply suspicious now, but he knew he had to try and not let it show. But hell… if Arthur actually remembered him, then why the fuck didn’t he say something? He took another deep breath, deciding to let it go for now, somehow. Arthur was in trouble, badly so, and whatever was happening beneath the surface, it had to wait. “You’re welcome. Now, how about you show off your monster to Mrs. Saratori, have a tea, I drink a coffee… God, I need a coffee, believe me… and afterwards you accompany me to my car to get the dog food?”

Arthur looked completely confused again, and Merlin was fine with that. “Dog food?”

“You’ll see. Come on, I need that coffee.”

“ARTHUR!”

Awake due to his own shout, Merlin sat up in his bed, breathing heavily. After looking around wildly for a few moments, he finally came to completely and buried his face in his hands, trying to shake off this damned dream. Same fucking nightmare, he thought, rubbing his hands over his face. Why does it have to come back now?

Sighing, he pushed the bedspread away, got up and traipsed downstairs to the kitchen without bothering to turn on the lights. He pulled a bottle of mineral water out of the fridge and leaned back at the kitchen counter, drinking it right out of the bottle while still trying to get his breathing under control.

But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t get one image out of his head; Mordred raising the sword and Arthur going down in a spray of blood. Merlin knew of course why the dream had returned with such a vengeance these last nights. He combed through his hair with his fingers and told himself to stay where he was. It made no sense at all to spend every goddamn night standing guard over Arthur. He knew he could trust his own spells, for Gods’ sake. And still, he was anxious, unsettled; his instincts were screaming at him to be close to Arthur, while his brain ordered him to go back to bed. Merlin looked at the clock -5 a.m.- and then thought about going over to his desktop and writing on his next book, which had been stalling dramatically the last weeks, but then he dismissed it. He would only write nonsense anyway. How the hell should he concentrate on ghouls, when his mind was on Arthur and his slowly blooming withdrawal symptoms?

Merlin finished the water and straightened up, scratching his chest. All right then. He would take a shower –his skin was itching all over thanks to night sweat- and then he would make coffee… and then, he would arrive at Mrs. Saratori’s café just a bit earlier than usual. Merlin hung his head. He wondered how far he could push her. Usually, she opened up at 10 o ’clock in the morning, and in the last days he had shown up two hours before that. She had just smiled and told him it was relaxing to have him sitting on the sofa, typing away on his laptop. But if he showed up at an even earlier hour… Merlin didn’t even know if she would be there yet. No matter, then he would just sit in his car and wait… and watch Arthur sleep.

Decision made, Merlin switched the coffee maker on and went to the bathroom, ignoring uninvited memories of the past as well as frightening whispers about the future.

Suppressing emotions only goes so far, Merlin thought, staring down at the soaked empty blanket on the street. It was pouring; in fact, Merlin had felt while he was driving through the darkness someone was constantly throwing buckets full of water against the windshield. The wipers had barely managed the amount of rain. Merlin had worried the whole time about Arthur, not able to remember how big or small the roof overhang above Arthur’s sleeping place was. Now he knew; there was little to no protection for anyone sitting or lying here.

Merlin spun around, umbrella in the right hand, and tried to look for Arthur and Prince through the rain and the first hints of dawn. He couldn’t spot them anywhere, so he jogged around the next corner. He knew there was a roofed bus stop nearby but to his disappointment, they weren’t there either. Returning to the lost looking blanket lying on the street, he closed his eyes and reached. For one scary moment, he couldn’t get a grip on Arthur but then he realized he was reaching too far; Arthur was closer than he had thought. Merlin sprinted down the street a few yards and knocked on the locked glass door of the café. Inside, there were only the emergency lights on and Merlin couldn’t see any movement. He gritted his teeth; he knew Arthur was in there, but what he didn’t know was whether Arthur had managed some B&E and locked himself in afterwards, or if Mrs. Saratori was in there, too, somewhere. He was already raising his free hand to unlock the door, when he finally saw her coming toward him. One look at her face crushed any feeling of relief, though.

While Merlin watched her drop the keys not once but twice, he could see she was beside herself with worry. Her usually elegantly upswept blonde hair was in disarray, her white blouse wasn’t tucked into her black pants. When she opened the door at last, she grabbed his arm and practically dragged him inside. “Oh thank God, you’re here! So he did finally call you!”

Merlin threw bag and umbrella on the floor, his Pea Coat following. He almost asked her what she meant by that and stopped at the last minute. As long as she thought Arthur had called him, he wouldn’t have to explain why he was here so early this morning.

While he rolled up his sleeves, she continued rambling. “He didn’t want to give me your number! And when I said I would have to call an ambulance, he… he…” She was close to tears now. “I don’t know what to do! Please, you have to help him, he can’t go on like that!”

Merlin nodded and laid one hand hesitantly on her shoulder. For some reason, Merlin always felt strange when he touched her, even if he was just shaking her hand or brushing her fingers while taking a coffee from her. Granted, he had never been someone who liked to touch or be touched, but with Mrs. Saratori, it wasn’t about that. The longer he knew her, the more he felt some kind of aura around her, something almost… sacred. It was pathetic how much he wanted her to like him, for example, and how glad he was that she seemed to do so; he had no idea why she moved him in that way.

Finally realizing that Mrs. Saratori was staring at him, obviously waiting for some answer or him taking action, he rallied. Whatever was going on with him and her, it wasn’t something to be solved here and now. “Where is he? In the men’s room?” When she nodded, he said, “Stay here. I’ll see what I can do for him.”

He left her standing in the middle of the room, still wringing her hands, and raced the few steps downstairs to the toilets. He hadn’t even reached the door when he heard the sound of someone throwing up violently. The first thing he saw when he entered the white-tiled room was Prince who sat on his hind legs, looking anxiously at the toilet stall in front of him and then at Merlin. The whole room reeked of vomit and sweat. Merlin went over and knocked on the door.

“Ar…” He broke off immediately. Gods, can you maybe concentrate a bit? “John? Please open the door.” Merlin heard the sound of flushing, then Arthur coughing. Finally, “Go away.”

“I will most certainly not. Open up!”

“No.”

Merlin sighed. “Look… Open the damn door or I’ll call the cops and make them break it down!” Already cringing because of the threat, Merlin waited. After a few seconds of silence, the lock and door was opened by an extremely pale and at the same time pissed looking Arthur, who sat on the –thankfully clean- floor beside the toilet. Merlin tried to assess his constitution quickly; Arthur was sweating heavily, hands and legs were trembling, and the dark circles around his eyes made him look like a raccoon. When he looked into Arthur’s eyes though, Merlin flinched hard. There was a deep resentment there, close to hate, directed at him.

“Now what?” Arthur spat out, clearly struggling with his gag reflex.

Merlin crouched down and tried to appear as nonthreatening as possible. He knew that a cornered Arthur –and he was, literally and metaphorically speaking- was dangerous. “Look. I know it’s none of my business…”

“There you’re right!”

“… but you can’t do that here. You…”

“Do what? I have the flu!”

Merlin just continued to look at him until Arthur finally averted his eyes. And although Merlin had really wanted to win this staring-down fight, his heart still hurt for Arthur. As young as he was, it was perfectly clear that this Arthur shared one of the biggest character traits of the long dead King of Camelot… he was beyond being proud. It had to be killing him to be seen like that. And still… once Merlin had been the only one allowed to see the King when he was just a burdened man. He wanted that back, he wanted to be trusted again, more than anything else. You know the way. Honesty. He had always hated it if someone had lied to him. So be honest, as honest as you can be right now. “You don’t have the flu. You show every symptom of being in withdrawal. And you can’t do a detox here in this stall, let alone on the street. So let me help you.”

For a moment, Merlin thought he got through to him. Arthur hesitated; but then, with a sinking heart, Merlin saw blood rushing to his face.

“I don’t need you! I don’t want your help, not now! Where have you been when…” Arthur broke off, his eyes widening, and then he bent forward quickly and started retching again, mostly dry heaving. Merlin grimaced and laid a hand on Arthur’s forehead to help him keep his head out of the toilet. The skin under his palm was clammy and far too hot. Merlin bit hard on his lips; there was no way around it, Arthur belonged in a hospital. He couldn’t stay here or on the street, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he could help him through a detoxication at his home without endangering him. He waited until Arthur was through with throwing up, then he petted Arthur’s back slowly while Arthur leaned his forehead on the toilet seat, moaning quietly. “Try to relax, I’ll fetch you some water.”

Arthur nodded, and Merlin got up and out, jogging upstairs and trying to suppress the feeling that he was about to betray Arthur’s barely given trust.

After he had gotten a bottle of still mineral water and had told the scared woman upstairs to call an ambulance, Merlin returned to Arthur, only to find him in the same position he had been in when Merlin had left. The only thing changed was that now a Great Dane somehow had squeezed into the stall as well, licking Arthur’s neck and hair.

“Hey, Prince. Come on, get out of here.”

The huge black dog looked once again at Merlin out of upset eyes, licked a few more times over his master’s face and then finally trotted out of the stall, tail between his legs. Merlin knew exactly how Prince was feeling; if he had a tail, he would tuck it in, too.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Here’s the water.”

Arthur opened his eyes, blinked a few times and finally reached out for the bottle. He seemed so out of it in that moment that Merlin’s worries increased tenfold. Arthur didn’t seem to mind his face was literally drenched in dog’s spit, or maybe he hadn’t even noticed Prince licking him all over. When Arthur took his first swallow of water, Merlin turned around and got a bunch of paper towels, wetted a few and returned into the stall. “Here.”

Arthur just looked at him inquiringly. Swallowing hard, Merlin leaned down and gently wiped over Arthur’s face, neck and hair; then he dried it just as gently with the rest of the towels. Arthur let it happen; he continued to gaze at Merlin out of big blue eyes, looking incredibly young. He was also very, very close to Merlin all of a sudden. Merlin swallowed again; he told himself that he was only imagining things, imagining that he knew that look, that he had seen exactly this look on Arthur in a hundred different situations, on battlefields, in Camelot’s laboratory, in the King’s chambers… whenever he had taken care of Arthur before.

He suddenly noticed that the towels had fallen onto the floor and he was still petting and combing through the matted blond hair; he couldn’t stop but Arthur didn’t seem to mind. To the contrary, Arthur had closed his eyes and was leaning into the touch. Helplessly, Merlin opened his mouth, the wrong –or better, the right- name hovering dangerously close on the tip of his tongue, when there was a knock on the door.

Arthur startled and shrunk back as if he had been slapped, and Merlin was up and at the door in a second, opening it a bit and instinctively blocking Arthur from anyone’s view. “What?” he hissed at Mrs. Saratori, for once not caring about behaving politely, let alone friendly. When Merlin met her surprised stare, he blinked a few times, cursing inwardly. He was sure his eyes weren’t blue anymore; another thing that hadn’t happened to him in decades. Mrs. Saratori blinked, too, and whatever she might have seen, she didn’t comment on it.

“There is a problem,” she whispered.

Merlin entered the dark hall and closed the door to the men’s room behind him. “What’s wrong?”

“The paramedics are here. But they want to know if Johnny has any insurance.”

“But of course.” Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell them I will cover any costs, cash in advance, if there’s the need for it. Just get them down here, please?”

She nodded and went back upstairs, and Merlin hesitated a few seconds before entering the men’s room again. Arthur’s eyes had become huge, but he relaxed visibly when he saw only Merlin coming in. Merlin, on the other hand, tensed all over. He was suddenly sure he had made a big mistake by letting Mrs. Saratori call the ambulance… but what the hell was the alternative?

“Hello? Someone in there?”

Merlin looked up, startled, and realized Arthur had been talking to him for some time, apparently, given the irritated expression on the other man’s face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve asked, if something’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“No. No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that…” Merlin didn’t know how to go on. It turned out he didn’t have to. The door banged open, two bear-like paramedics came in, and all hell broke loose.

Great idea, Merlin thought bitterly while he cradled Arthur’s head in his lap. I couldn’t have fucked up things with him more if I’ve tried. It’s over.

“Here, take this,” Mrs. Saratori said, offering another wet towel. “I have a first aid kit in the kitchen… do you think you’ll need it?”

Taking the towel from her, Merlin shook his head without looking up. He knew she was still shocked by what had happened in the last minutes, but he didn’t want to see shock turning into something else when she remembered who had told her to call these bastards. But…

“Well, maybe I will need it anyway,” he said. “Is there an icepack in it?” When she didn’t answer, Merlin reluctantly looked up from Arthur’s slack face and concentrated on a spot above her left shoulder.

“This wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. In fact, you’ve stopped it. If you hadn’t been here…”

“If I hadn’t been here, none of this would have happened.”

“You’re wrong. Hey,” She laid a hand on his shoulder, and Merlin finally looked at her face. There was no anger in her blue eyes, only a touch of sadness and lots of sympathy. “I would have called them, too. I would have told them I’d pay for his treatment. And then? I wouldn’t have been able to stop them.”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said softly. “Anyone who can restrain the Hound of the Baskervilles has to be able to kick some asses, too.”

Her smile deepened a bit. “He really wanted a bite out of the guy with the Taser, didn’t he?”

“So did I,” Merlin granted, barely managing to not let his eyes change color again. Not that she seemed to have noticed it before, and neither had the bastard who had zapped Arthur into unconsciousness… right before the Taser had had a bad malfunction and zapped the asshole right back.

“Looked like you did,” she answered, and now there was a definite smile in her voice. She patted Merlin’s shoulder once more and then straightened up. “I doubt there is a cold pack in the kit but I’m sure I’ll find something useful in the freezer.”

“Mrs. Saratori?” Merlin called out. Already at the door, she turned around to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. And please, drop the ‘Mrs. Saratori’.”

Merlin felt immensely grateful. “Thank you again. It’s Linda, isn’t it?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Actually, it’s Sieglinda… but Linda is perfectly fine.”

Eyes narrowing, Merlin felt a shiver running down his spine. Sieglinda? Wasn’t Sieglinda the name of…?

“What’s your name? ‘Sweetheart’ must get old for you by now.”

“Um… no, it’s not getting old at all. I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘Sweetheart’ before. Anyway, my name is…” Merlin paused for a moment, oddly reluctant to even tell her his alias. It’s official, I’m losing it. I’m starting to see ghosts everywhere. “My name is John, John Emerson.”

Linda nodded and smiled slightly. “So it’s John then. Another ‘John’.”

“Yes. And the moment he wakes up again,” Merlin looked down at Arthur, “I will try to convince him to call the dog ‘John’, too.”

“You do that.” Linda turned to leave and threw one last line over her shoulder. “By the way, my second forename is Johanna.”

Merlin waited until he couldn’t hear Linda’s footsteps on the stairs anymore and then concentrated on Arthur. Letting his fingers comb through the blond hair, he winced when he felt the big bump on the back of Arthur’s head, the exact place where it had hit the tile wall when Arthur went down thanks to that Taser attack. Merlin closed his eyes, and a second later the bump had vanished. Then he tried to get a feeling for Arthur’s general state. He knew by the absence of warning signals from the protection spell that Arthur wasn’t in a critical condition yet, but still… what he learned from a quick superficial magical examination was unsettling. Although Arthur was unconscious, his stomach was still cramping and close to vomiting again –a fact that brought even more disturbing images to Merlin’s mind-, his whole body was hurting and on top of that, Merlin felt the beginning of a monster migraine developing in Arthur’s thankfully non-concussed brain. And underneath it all, there was this weird feeling of craving, skittering around in Arthur’s body and mind, elusive like a wet bar of soap to Merlin’s attempts of gripping it.

Letting his left hand rest on Arthur’s chest, Merlin opened his eyes again and stared unseeingly at the white tiles in front of him. He thought hard about what he could do for Arthur and what he should do… and of all the things he wasn’t able to do to help him. Mind made up, he concentrated again and let healing magic flow over Arthur; while Merlin’s hand slid over Arthur’s body, the stomach settled and the hurt left limbs and spine. Merlin ignored the tiny voice in his head that told him nothing he was doing would be good for longer than a few hours; instead, he put his energy into removing the pain from Arthur’s head. He let his thumbs circle Arthur’s eyes repeatedly, and finally stroked the eyebrows with his fingertips, over and over again.

When Merlin felt the tickling sensation of eyelashes brushing against his fingers, he froze all over. He wasn’t ready yet to face Arthur.

“What are you doing?”

“Reiki,” Merlin deadpanned and then promptly bit on his lips to prevent the hysterical laughter he felt rising within coming out. He was pretty sure he would get punched in the face in no time, but there was no need to provoke an even fiercer punch.

“I’m sorry?”

“Reiki,” Merlin repeated. “It’s a Japanese healing technique, also known as palm healing.” Wondering if he sounded as insane as he felt, Merlin risked a quick downward glance. Arthur, whose head was still lying in Merlin’s lap, stared up at him, looking totally baffled. “Did it help?” Merlin asked.

“What?”

Worried now, Merlin leaned a bit closer. “Do you know who I am?” The words had barely left his mouth when he thought, Isn’t that the question of the century?

Arthur blinked twice, and then nodded. “Yeah, I do know who you are. What I don’t know is what has happened.”

“What do you remember?”

Making no move to sit up or throw a punch, Arthur licked his lips. “I guess… someone called an ambulance?”

Merlin winced. “Yes. That was my idea. One of my better ones, obviously.”

“Where are they?”

“Um. Well, one of them had a mishap. I think his partner is now bringing him to a hospital.”

“A mishap?”

“You remember the Taser?” When Merlin saw fear crossing Arthur’s features, he quickly continued. “Whatever it did to you, believe me, it hit him harder than you. At least, he flew further backwards than you did. Did some damage to the interior.” Merlin pointed outside the stall to the smashed mirror and sink.

“Wow.” Arthur sat up to take a better look, and then groaned quietly.

Merlin automatically reached out and steadied him. “Take it easy, man. You’re now in a worse shape than you were in before these assholes arrived.” Inwardly, he was still waiting for Arthur to lose it and yell at him, but so far, Arthur only seemed to be bemused by what had happened. Just wait, he thought, this will change the moment he comes out of the stupor he’s in.

“Funny that. I certainly feel better than before.” Arthur threw him a look. “Reiki, huh?”

Merlin’s scalp… contracted. There was no other word for it; it was the weirdest feeling ever. Because there was that look again, the look Merlin remembered. The I-don’t-know-if-I-should-throw-something-at-you-or-simply-fall-down-laughing look.

“What?” the exhausted question came.

Merlin shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just waiting for you to explode or something like that.”

Arthur looked at him for a while longer, then sighed and rubbed one hand over his face. “Nah. I’m not happy about it, but I know why you called them. Would have done the same, I guess. And I am feeling better. So whatever you did, thanks.”

With Merlin’s help, Arthur climbed to his feet only to sit down again on the toilet with another groan. “Shit, I’m dizzy as hell.”

“Probably from the jolt with the Taser. And you definitely should eat something, and…” Merlin broke off at the hoarse laugh coming from Arthur.

“Believe me, eating is not on my to-do-list right now.”

“I hear you. But then at least drink some juice… and you’re running a fever, so some Tylenol would be great, easier on the stomach than Aspirin. I have some in my bag up in the…”

“I have Tylenol.” Arthur hung his head for a moment, then looked up at Merlin with a pleading expression in his eyes. Merlin crouched down immediately, laying his hands on Arthur’s knees. “What is it?”

Arthur continued to look at him for a few more seconds, opened his mouth and shut it at once again. Merlin could see a faint blush creeping up Arthur’s neck, and suddenly he knew what Arthur wanted. Trying to swallow around the lump in his throat, Merlin said quietly, “I won’t give you any of the stuff you’re on.”

Arthur averted his eyes and nodded jerkily. “I know you won’t.”

“Hey. I know you don’t want to go to a hospital and now I totally understand why not. But… please, let me help you? Come home with me?” Merlin saw Arthur already shaking his head and gabbled on. “Aw come on, why not? It’s raining cats and dogs outside, you can’t go on the street with the fever you’re running! I can help you! Look, I know you don’t really know me but I promise you, I won’t hurt you. I just want to…” Merlin tapered off when Arthur looked back at him, open desperation in his eyes. What is that? That isn’t pride… what? “What is it?”

“You don’t know me.”

Ah, Gods!

“I know enough to…”

“No! I’m not… I’m not… I’m ill.”

“I know! That’s why you should come home with me.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not…”

“What?”

“I’m not… sane.” Arthur stated it so desperately that Merlin didn’t even understand him at first; he only reacted to the emotion in Arthur’s voice. Leaning forward, his hands slid upward from Arthur’s knees to his arms, drawing him into a hug. For a glorious moment, Merlin felt Arthur hugging him back fiercely, and then Merlin’s brain caught up with what Arthur had said. Pulling his head back a bit to get a look at him, he asked, “What do you mean, ‘not sane’?”

Arthur tensed and leaned back so quickly, breaking the embrace, that Merlin had to grab Arthur’s arms again to not fall backwards on his ass. Standing up and making Merlin straighten up, too, in the process, Arthur shook off Merlin’s hands as if they were on fire. “What do you think it means? I’m crazy, insane, psychotic, take your choice!” He tried to get past Merlin, but Merlin stood right in front of him, not giving an inch.

“Dammit, you’re not crazy, you’re on…”

“I know fucking well what I’m on! And you know what, genius? There’s a reason why I’m on it! Believe me, you don’t want me in your house, and I don’t want to be there either! So, get out of my way and…” Arthur broke off, looking scared again. “Where’s Prince?”

“He’s in the ladies’ room and not liking it. Listen…”

“Do not take him away from me!”

Merlin’s head began to pound; it was his ‘Arthur-Headache’, not felt for a very long time but nevertheless recognized immediately. “I won’t take that fucking dog away from you; I’ve already promised you that!” Taking a deep breath, Merlin lowered his voice somewhat. “Look, you need help!” Merlin shoved away the ‘There’s a reason why I’m on it’ and ‘I’m crazy, insane, psychotic’ for later consideration. He’d gotten a first inkling about what was wrong with Arthur, but if he allowed himself to think about it now, he would bash his own head against the tiles for quite some time for not realizing it earlier. And right now, he had to win this fight with Arthur, nothing else mattered.

“If you don’t want to come with me, then at least let me ask Mrs. Saratori; I can help her with…”

“NO!”

Arthur’s yell hadn’t trailed off yet when the bathroom door opened and Linda came in. “It stopped raining,” she said quietly, addressing both of them. Then, turning to Arthur, she continued. “You could sleep a few hours on the couch in my office, rest a bit. When you wake up, I will make you some toast and tea and we all will take it from there. What do you say?”

Looking more exhausted than ever, Arthur leaned against the stall wall and finally nodded. “That sounds like heaven. Thank you so much, Mrs.…”

“Linda.”

“… Linda.”

Merlin watched her leading Arthur out of the bathroom and up the stairs, then he closed his eyes for a moment. Although he was glad that Linda was allowed to take care of Arthur, it still hurt as hell to see how quickly and easily Arthur had given in to her.

At last, he straightened up to get Prince out of the other bathroom; Merlin was sure that by now, the dog would need a walk and something to eat as well.

Fortunately, Prince didn’t mind Merlin’s company at all.

Part 3

Glow of a Rose (1/6)

silkmoth101 — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 21:48:00 GMT

Title: Glow of a Rose
Summary: After waiting centuries for the Rise of the Once and Future King, Merlin is not amused to find out Arthur can fuck up everything… even his own legend.
Art by glenien
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For all Seasons and for screwing around with the Arthurian Legend. Hell, in this story, I couldn’t even let the Nibelungen Legend alone.
Genres: Slash, First Time, Romance, H/C, Angst, Reincarnation!Fic, Powerful!Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 40.560
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.
Author’s Notes: Lyrics at the beginning from the song ‘This Bitter Earth’ by Dinah Washington

MASTERPOST

Glow of a Rose

And if my life is like the dust
that hides the glow of a rose…

What good am I?
Heaven only knows.

Face half-hidden behind the screen of his laptop, Merlin was staring through the open door of the inn across the street. For the hundredth time in the last two weeks he told himself that this couldn’t be coincidence. He had seen a lot of them over the last centuries, but he had never, ever seen three of them at the same place, obviously knowing each other.

Quite obviously, Merlin thought while he watched Lancelot and Guinevere kissing each other with the ease of a couple who knew each other long and well. Lancelot’s name was now Will – a fact that gave Merlin the creeps- and Guinevere was called Mary, but nevertheless… they were Lancelot and Guinevere. And Gwaine was Gwaine, and he was even called Gwaine now, which was probably embarrassing for him but Merlin was kind of glad about it; things were already confusing enough. It was also glaringly obvious that neither of them recognized him; another thing Merlin was thankful for. The last time he had seen Lancelot, about 1820, the once-upon-a-time-knight had known Merlin… he hadn’t really remembered much of their history but whatever he had remembered had been enough for him to attack the warlock, and all had ended in a bloody disaster he could do without this time.

Guinevere had never recognized him, no matter how often they had met. And they had, far too often for Merlin’s taste. He sometimes wondered if she didn’t want to know him, if he maybe only came to her in her most hidden, secret nightmares. He hoped so. As back then, it made bile rise in his throat when he watched her and her fucking white knight. Mordred might have killed Arthur, Morgana might have given him the means to do so, Uther might have crippled Arthur’s soul, but after all these years, Merlin still hated Guinevere and Lancelot most. Arthur had loved both of them, and they had betrayed him in the most horrible way imaginable. Merlin knew, this had been Arthur’s downfall, not the insane search for the Grail, not the war against Mercia… it had been the deceit of his wife and his… well, best friend. Merlin hadn’t held this title at that time; his part of the blame. He hadn’t warned Arthur, tongue-tied and not sure how to approach the King about his cheating wife, and then it had been too late. He had fallen for the ruse of a woman he had thought he could trust; trapped in a cave by her for decades, stripped of almost all of his powers, he had been cursed to only watch Arthur’s last years, the struggling with his fate, without being able to help him, to console him.

Merlin took a deep breath and lowered his gaze to the keyboard. He knew none of that mattered now, hadn’t for a long time. These people across the street, two innkeepers and one of their waiters… they weren’t his enemies anymore. Actually, they were the reason for the bit of hope that had flared in his chest when he had found out about them. And as for the others… Morgana, Viviane and Mordred, wanderers like himself… they all ran for their lives whenever they felt Merlin closing in on them. Even if they weren’t hopelessly divided, they all knew they wouldn’t stand a chance against him, not after all these years while his powers had grown and theirs had weakened.

So… there he was sitting at the same table in front of this little Italian café, the last two weeks, every day in the same spot across the street, waiting for Arthur to arrive. He wasn’t even close to losing his patience; he would still sit here for years, if he had to. Something was different this time; he could feel it in the way his heart was stuttering in his chest. He hadn’t felt that way since he had last seen Arthur, in the royal chambers of Camelot, before he had left for Avalon.

Sighing, Merlin let his gaze wander down the street; by now, he knew almost everyone who lived or worked here. The huddled beggar in front of the boutique that never seemed to be open, the guy inside his flower shop who was selling roses and crack, the old woman who, quite like Merlin, did nothing besides staring down at this street from her window the whole day. And every time he looked around, he waited for a blond man to turn one of the corners, coming toward him, recognizing him.

Merlin leaned down and got a few newspapers out of his bag. While he was flipping through the pages, he shook his head. Wherever he looked, no matter the country, the only things to find were hate, war, lies, deception, murder, disasters… in his opinion, the world had twenty, maybe thirty years left before everything would end in a melt-down; the Earth was dying. Therefore, he had kept track on all the European royal families and he was trying to be on top of news about promising, young politicians all over the world. He hadn’t found Arthur so far, but still, he just knew the other man was close. And there was reason to believe somebody else knew about the Rise… Merlin reached for the envelope in the inside pocket of his jacket. For the nth time, he let his finger wander over the white surface, over the single name on it. Emerson, his alias. No stamps, no return address, no nothing. Only the name. It had appeared in his mailbox two weeks ago, a single picture in it. Guinevere, Lancelot and Gwaine standing in front of the Three Lions.

Merlin shook his head slightly; no matter what he had tried with the envelope and the picture, he hadn’t been able to find out where it had come from or who had sent it. That was troublesome; whoever had sent it must have known not only what finding out about the Three Lions meant to Merlin; no, this person also had had to know who Merlin was. And who would know about that, if not one of his old enemies… or one of Camelot’s Returners. But if in fact one of the old souls besides the three across the road had awoken and if that soul was well-meaning… then why had this person not approached him? The whole thing bothered Merlin; he wasn’t afraid, hell, it had been centuries since he had been afraid of anyone, but still… he wanted to know what this was all about. He hated riddles he couldn’t solve.

With a sigh, he pocketed the envelope again. Whoever, whatever, it wasn’t so important right now. Important was the flutter of his heart, the strange feeling of belonging in his soul.

Maybe… maybe it was time now, finally.

Later, Merlin wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him that Arthur would fuck things up. After all, the bloody Once and Future King had done so since Merlin had known him, and he had never really stopped doing so his whole life.

Merlin had just taken his usual seat and ordered a latte from the tiny, curvy and extremely sarcastic Italian woman who owned the café – “Please, believe me, I can’t eat tiramisu first thing in the morning, no matter how awesome it is” – when things in the street became very nasty very quickly.

Across the boutique, where the beggar was already arranging his tin box and unwrapping himself from various blankets, three neo-Nazis turned the corner, loudly brawling, and most probably on their merry way to the drug-selling florist of their choice. Merlin dimly remembered seeing them once or twice before, but then, they had come from the other end of the street. Obviously, the beggar had been lucky so far –he didn’t react at all to the three assholes- but sadly, his luck ended right before Merlin’s eyes. For whatever reason, maybe only due to the fact that the flower shop didn’t seem to be open yet –the owner was running late- the skins spotted the homeless guy, stopped for a second and then started to cross the street, yelling the first rude remarks.

“Jesus Christ!”

Merlin, in the very act of standing up, startled and stared at Mrs. Saratori beside him. Mrs. Saratori, who held his latte in one and a butcher knife in the other hand. Jesus Christ indeed. “Mrs. Saratori, do me the favor, let go of that knife and call the cops, would you?”

Merlin shoved her very cautiously toward the door, his eyes glued to the unfair fight scene developing not far away. The guy on the sidewalk had caught on to the danger he was in and tried to struggle to his feet. It was just a little too late for that because the first asshole had already reached him and lifted his white-laced boot –Merlin wondered why the guy even bothered with this dated accessory, the swastika tattoo on his neck was expressing his ideas quite nicely- and kicked the beggar in the stomach. Or better, he tried to… the pavement beneath him got slippery all of a sudden and he landed right on his ass before his foot could make contact with the guy still sitting on the ground. Merlin, on his way to them, hoped the police would show up quickly; otherwise, he’d have to find a way to explain his ability to beat those three overgrown monkeys to the ground on his own.

Only a few feet away now, Merlin would have given a lot for Lancelot or Gwaine coming around the corner; well, he would prefer Gwaine, to be honest. If the man still owned some of his old character traits, he would join the fight just because, “Hey! A Fight!”, but alas… Merlin arrived at his destination and nobody showed up, neither knights nor cops nor anyone else.

“Do tell me… do I have a chance to stop this when I say, ‘Cool it,’?”

Like doublemint triplets, all three of them turned in his direction. “Wha’ did ya say?”

“Yes. I thought as much.”

Taking advantage of the moment of surprise, Merlin swung his fist at the guy right in front of him. The second his hand made contact, the ass flew back and downwards as if Merlin had delivered a right cross, which he most certainly hadn’t. Sadly, if one didn’t have a brain in one’s head, it was next to impossible to knock one out, so Merlin wasn’t upset to see him getting onto his feet almost immediately again.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Merlin noticed movement coming his way, but before he managed to turn around fully, the second ass, who tried to attack him, stumbled against a parked car. The homeless guy had obviously decided to join the fight and had thrown his pillow, that turned out to be a backpack, at asshole number two. That earned him a punch from the third guy –the one with the tattoo-, and Merlin suddenly decided he had more than enough. Stepping quickly in front of the beggar who had tumbled down on his blankets again, he let his magic flare, showing them their worst nightmares.

Man-sized spider, man-sized spider -Gods, how boring can they get?- and a werewolf, so at least one of them had a bit of imagination. The results were, as always, spectacular. The fact that they were drunk out of their minds helped, of course; he doubted they had known they could run so fast. Merlin crouched down beside the homeless guy who, as if by a miracle, still had the hood over his head, and asked, “You’re all right?”

The guy looked up and Merlin’s whole world tilted sideways. Of course, this was the exact moment the cops finally showed up.

“So… you’re saying they just ran away?”

“I think I can look pretty dangerous.”

The officer behind the desk stared at him and Merlin stared straight back. This was getting old very fast. Right now, Merlin had better things to do than sitting in this old police station under flickering neon lights and answering stupid questions. Far better things. He looked over to the desk slightly behind him where… Arthur was sitting, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands and glaring defiantly at another officer.

“Mr. Emerson, guys like these don’t just run away.”

Merlin sighed. “Maybe they saw Mrs. Saratori coming down the street with that huge pan of hers? Listen, I have no idea why they turned tail and ran. Maybe you should go and look for them, instead of interrogating the victims?”

“Do you want to file charges?”

“Yes, of course. But I also think the DA should be interested in this as well? Such people are a public menace.”

The officer mumbled something Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to know and began with the labored process of typing all the information he was able to get from Merlin into the old computer on his desk. After they were finished –sadly, this had also included a short interlude of “Oh, sir, I’m sorry… you’re that Mr. Emerson?” which led Merlin to the conclusion he’d have to change his current profession asap- Merlin stood up, took his coat and turned to the other desk where Arthur… had been sitting. The chair was empty now.

Thankfully, Merlin didn’t have to run all too far; Arthur was just outside on the steps leading up to the police station, smoking and apparently waiting for him. Putting on his coat and buttoning it up, Merlin slowly descended toward him. He had carefully blanked his expression because he had no idea how or if Arthur would react to him. So far, they hadn’t been alone and hadn’t exchanged a single word. Inwardly, he was shaking with nerves and also with disbelief… this wasn’t the way he had imagined them meeting again, and Gods… he had imagined thousands and thousands of possibilities.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Arthur answered, taking another drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out and therefore obscuring his face behind it. “I guess I should thank you for rescuing me.”

Merlin just stared at him, becoming increasingly annoyed with himself. Now would be a good time so say something, like ‘You’re welcome’, if you don’t want to look like a complete idiot. And yes, his eyes are blue but that isn’t helping you right now. “Uh… it was either me or Mrs. Saratori’s pan.” Great. Brilliant, in fact.

Arthur narrowed his eyes a bit and then nodded. “Mhm. Okay, as I said, thanks.” With that he turned around and started walking, only to be stopped by Merlin’s hand that had grasped his upper arm. “What?”

“I just…” And again, words failed Merlin. He noticed that Arthur’s expression became angry and he still couldn’t let go of him.

“Hey, take your hands off me!”

It only took the span of a second to put two of his most powerful spells on Arthur, then Merlin released him. With a sinking feeling, he began to understand that the other man didn’t recognize him… and also didn’t react to the magic that had just flown all over and around him.

“I just wanted to ask you if… uh, you wanted to have a coffee with me?” Merlin wondered if he could sound lamer; he suspected he could… and would in no time, most probably.

Arthur snorted. The bastard actually snorted. “Man, spare yourself the time and trouble… I don’t go for things like that.”

“Things like what?”

“Aw, come on… do I have to spell it out for you, here, of all places?”

Merlin started to grind his teeth. The twit might not remember him, but he certainly sounded exactly like he had sounded centuries ago. “Oh, please, do me the favor and spell it out. Because I don’t understand a word you’re saying!”

Arthur lowered his voice and hissed, “I’m not a hustler!”

Again speechless, Merlin stared at the blond man. Then he slowly looked down at himself, at his expensive gray and black Pea Coat, the black turtle-neck under it, the worn jeans and black boots. “Huh. I didn’t think the ten golden chains I’m wearing were showing under this. What… you think I’m a pimp, or what?”

Pursing his lips, Arthur answered, “No. I think you’re a john. And again, slowly this time so you’ll be able to understand. Thanks, but no, thanks.” And then, he turned around and jogged down the street, leaving behind a 1500 years old, totally flabbergasted warlock.

With a sigh, Merlin turned over on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was no good, sleep didn’t come. There was no need to worry about Arthur; the protection and tracking spells were firmly in place. Merlin just had to reach out and Arthur, lying on the street in a sleeping bag, appeared in front of his eyes. Sleeping on a goddamn street. In a street where some sort of creepy Camelot gathering could very well take place. Giving up, Merlin got out of bed and started dressing. He deliberately shoved any thoughts about Arthur’s destiny -how the fuck could that happen now? - away, because… first things first. He had to find a way to get to know the other man, to get him to trust Merlin… and he already knew that this would be so much fun he wouldn’t be able to stand it.

Completely hidden from human eyes by magic, Merlin sat down carefully on the blanket beside Arthur. For a moment, he let his eyes wander over the meager possessions, then returned to Arthur’s face. The blond man -Man? Gods, he looks so young, how old is he?- wasn’t sleeping peacefully; a fine sheet of sweat covered his face, eyes behind closed lids were moving rapidly, brows were furrowed. Merlin watched him for another second, then raised his hand and let it hover over Arthur’s head. “Sleep,” he said quietly. Immediately, Arthur relaxed; the erratic breathing turned to deep breaths, and he seemed to sink deeper into the sleeping bag.

Merlin swallowed hard. Unbidden memories rose inside him; how often had he done the same for the troubled King of Camelot? He took a deep breath himself; he couldn’t succumb to the feelings he had for this man, not now, never. He had to remember that he was foremost a tool for Arthur, someone who had to help the Once and Future King, and not someone who fell head over ass for said king, like the fool Merlin was and always had been. And still, he was tempted, so tempted to touch him, like he had done in front of that police station. It was as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and had to touch, to make sure he had really found him. Releasing a silent sigh, he gave in and stroked tenderly over the blond hair.

When he drew his hand back, Merlin frowned. It was one thing to sweat while having nightmares, but Arthur seemed to be drenched in sweat. His hair was almost dripping wet, but he didn’t feel feverish. With a sudden bad feeling, Merlin opened the backpack Arthur was using as a pillow, and glimpsed inside as much as he could given the fact that Arthur’s head was lying on it. The only things he could see were clothing, another pair of sneakers, some toiletries and a few books. He closed the bag again, and then, fighting the feeling that he was actually creeped out by himself, he slowly unzipped the sleeping bag. Arthur mumbled something, turned a bit more onto his stomach and made it very easy for Merlin to spot the wallet sticking in the back pocket of his jeans. While he was drawing it out, Merlin kept a close eye on the sleeping man. He knew it was next to impossible for him to wake up, not after the sleeping spell, but one never knew with Arthur. The King had always had the uncanny talent of being unswayed by Merlin’s more ordinary magic tricks… and this meant he could not only wake up but also see him. And Merlin wasn’t keen on a suddenly awake Arthur who would find Merlin all over him in the dark, especially not after the whole ‘being a john’ thing Arthur had mentioned.

But he didn’t wake, and Merlin opened the wallet. There was no money in it, as expected, but Merlin was more interested in finding a driver license or an ID card. He got the card quickly and stared. John Smith. John Smith! Merlin bit on his lips to stop himself from laughing out loud. That was… funny, in more than one way. Then his gaze fell on the birth date and he groaned. He wasn’t even nineteen! Gods, he was younger than he had been when Merlin had met him the first time. Actually… he was as young as Merlin had been then. Great. A teenager.

There was nothing more of interest in the wallet, so Merlin shoved it back carefully into Arthur’s pocket and started to zip up the sleeping bag again. As if on cue, Arthur sighed and turned on his back again, and that was the moment Merlin noticed the pill bottle in his left hand. He gently pried open the grip Arthur had on it.

Lorazepam… and the bottle was half empty. Merlin closed his eyes. This was… well, ‘not good’ didn’t cover it, this was an actual disaster.

The next morning, Merlin sat down at ‘his’ table the moment the waiter had dragged chairs and tables out.

“You’re early today, sweetheart. The coffee machine isn’t hot yet.”

Merlin looked up at Mrs. Saratori and grimaced slightly. “I know, I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep. Would you mind if I sit here or would you prefer I wait somewhere else until you… well, actually open up?”

The tiny woman laughed. “Yes, I want you to stand up and wait somewhere else, silly! Come on in and wait there, it’s still a bit cold out here.”

Merlin hesitated for a moment, looking at the sleeping man not far away, and then stood up and followed Mrs. Saratori into the her still sparely lit café. She was right after all; although summer wasn’t far away, it was still uncomfortably chilly and damp so early in the morning. He took a seat on one of the cozy sofas and watched her whirling around behind the bar, his thoughts still on Arthur. He had spent the rest of the night on researching anything he could think of on benzodiazepine use, addiction and withdrawal. What he had found had been distressing, to say the least. It was obvious Arthur couldn’t do a detoxication on the street. For some reason, Merlin suspected he wouldn’t get him into a hospital either, so… he had to get him off the street and into his house as soon as possible. Since Merlin knew Arthur only had half a bottle of the drug left, it had to be really soon; after all, Merlin had already made sure that Arthur wouldn’t be able to get a refill. Well, refill wasn’t the right name for this; it surely hadn’t been Arthur’s given name on that bottle.

Merlin startled out of his thoughts when Mrs. Saratori put a latte and a cinnamon roll on the table in front of him. “That should help a bit, sleepy head. And don’t start on me about that roll, you need the sugar.” Before Merlin could answer or thank her she was away again, grabbed a paper bag with probably more rolls in it and what looked like a huge thermos jug and left the café, turning to the left. Merlin waited for a moment, then got up and looked out of the window. As he had thought, she was just putting down both jug and bag beside Arthur without waking him. Merlin smiled; he had apparently missed this ritual because he had never been here so early before. So… Arthur had been adopted, and this also explained why that tiny woman had almost banged a pan over the head of one the assholes the day before.

When Mrs. Saratori came back, she saw Merlin peeking out of the window and smiled at him. “This boy is really impossible. You know how often I told him he should come in here to warm himself up? He’s worse than a stray cat… far too wary of anyone.”

“Do you know how long he’s been out there?”

“Well, I don’t know how long he’s living on the streets. I’ve asked him but he just shrugged it off. But the first time he came here… maybe a month?” She looked at him for a long moment, and then continued, “That was very brave of you, yesterday, to take on those fuckers alone.”

Reeling a bit from hearing the word ‘fuckers’ coming out of her mouth, Merlin didn’t know how to answer. He knew of course, that, thin as he was, he didn’t look like someone who had a chance against three musclemen. He glanced at her a bit helplessly, but she just smiled and shrugged. “Whatever you did, it worked. Though I would have really liked the chance to bash one of their heads in.”

Sighing, Merlin said, “I filed charges against them but…”

Mrs. Saratori interrupted him. “Forget it! I don’t know what’s going on in this world, but assholes like them? They get away. Even if the cops manage to catch them, and that would be a miracle because they probably don’t even look for them, they will get away with a slap on their wrists. Johnny on the other hand… Jesus. Did he tell you they almost arrested him for begging on the street?”

“What?”

“Yes. That’s how it works. And the ones responsible…” at this, her gaze wandered to the still closed flower shop, “… walk away.”

I wouldn’t be too sure about that guy, Merlin thought. Out loud, he said, “So, that’s the one then… the dealer?”

“You see a lot.”

“Sometimes.”

Mrs. Saratori sat down beside Merlin and started to turn the ashtray on the table around and around. “I feel so sorry for that poor boy. I don’t know what happened to him… to be honest, I didn’t dare to ask him, I was afraid he would take off immediately. But it’s obvious he has some terrible problems and every time I see that man walk over to him, throw a coin into that little tin box to cover for him selling drugs to that boy, I could…” She broke off for a second. Then, “But I know, I know, if I call the cops, they would find nothing on that ass and would arrest Johnny instead.”

“You’re probably right,” Merlin answered. Inwardly, he was filled with pleasant anticipation. It was true, that guy was very careful about his drugs; Merlin had looked around in the closed flower shop about an hour ago. But things had changed dramatically in that hour, and Merlin couldn’t wait for the spectacle to start.

Two hours later, Merlin sat on his usual seat in front of the café, drinking his third latte and enjoying the morning sun, among other things. Across the street, there were still cops carrying boxes of various sizes out of the flower shop; boxes filled with drugs of every kind that Merlin had planted carefully all over the shop’s basement in the early morning hours.

The last hour had been… satisfactory for Merlin. The moment the florist had unlocked the front door of his shop, it had been raining cops. Cops in uniforms, plainclothes cops and, if Merlin wasn’t very wrong, the whole Narcotics Squad had descended on that guy, arresting him immediately. They had waited until the dogs had found the first stash, then Mr. Drugs and Roses had vanished inside a police car, to be hopefully never seen again.

Everyone who lived here and was at home was hanging out of their windows and watching the drama evolving. The rest stood together, whispering, pointing.

Since he couldn’t resist, Merlin glanced over to Arthur again. The last time he had done this, Arthur had been sitting on his sleeping bag with a less than amused expression on his face. This time however, Arthur stared straight back at him, eyes narrowed. Shaking off the weird feeling that Arthur somehow knew that this had been Merlin’s doing –he couldn’t know that now, could he?- Merlin raised his eyebrows, trying for an innocent look, and pointed with his left hand to the empty chair beside his. Arthur stared at him for another moment, then turned away and started rummaging in his backpack. Merlin sighed with disappointment, and then his heart jumped and began to beat quickly, because Arthur had stood up and came his way.

At once, Merlin became annoyed with himself again. By the Gods, he was really too old to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. His mouth went dry, his palms got clammy, the whole nine yards, as if he were also still a teenager. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore his adrenalin ridden body, Merlin watched Arthur coming closer. Gods, he was so thin. Merlin knew that he himself was also very skinny, but with his slighter build, it didn’t show so much. Arthur still had the wide shoulders, the broader physique, and he looked… awful. Unhealthy. Almost starved.

“What now?” A deep voice asked.

Merlin swallowed, looked up and smiled. “Better view from here, don’t you think? I’d really like to invite you to a coffee. I swear I have no nefarious intentions towards your body.” That was an utter lie, of course. He had nefarious intentions; he just wouldn’t act on them.

“You’re a weird one, aren’t you?” Arthur stated.

“Yes, definitely.”

After he hesitated for another moment, Arthur finally sat down beside him, and before Merlin could even think of something to say, Mrs. Saratori shot out of her café, looking very excited.

“I don’t believe it,” she beamed. Arthur glanced up at her, smiling slightly, and Merlin had to look away. A glaring Arthur he would be able to handle, a smiling Arthur was too much right now. So he just listened to Arthur talking nonsense with her and ordering a tea, and continued to watch the ant hill across the street. Suddenly, he cocked his head to one side. One of the cops, probably one from the Narcotics Squad, looked familiar… very familiar. When the guy turned around fully, Merlin leaned back in his chair. Valliant. Awesome. No, this was beyond awesome. Merlin stared and did all he could to stay seated and not hex Arthur far, far away.

“You know him?”

Merlin’s head whipped around. “What?”

“Miller.” Arthur pointed with his chin to the cop. “You look like you know him.”

“No. He just… looks like someone I knew. Why? Do you know him?”

Arthur took his time responding, lighting a cigarette. “Well, I wouldn’t say I know him. He arrested me some weeks ago, made me spend the night in jail. That night, someone stole my coat. He is an asshole.”

“He arrested you? For what?”

Arthur didn’t answer; he was still looking at Valliant. Merlin turned around again, following Arthur’s gaze, and saw Valliant staring back at Arthur. He exchanged some words with another cop, and then made two steps towards them. And then, he noticed Merlin. He stopped his forward motion as if he had slammed headfirst into an invisible brick wall, stood still for a second, turned about and went back into the flower shop. Merlin lowered his eyes.

“You sure you don’t know each other?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’m sure.”

“Right.” Arthur threw another glance at the flower shop, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s been a pleasure. Thanks for the tea.” With that he stood up, and Merlin was very proud of himself that he didn’t –again- grab one of Arthur’s limbs. He just hoped the other man hadn’t seen how badly his fingers were twitching. “Hey, wait a moment!”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“What… what’s your name?”

“Smith. John Smith.”

“Smith, huh?”

“Unfortunately. And yours?”

“Emerson.”

“And…?”

“… John Emerson.”

That got Merlin the first full-blown smile from Arthur. “Lots of Johns around here, it seems.”

“Seems so.”

Arthur nodded, then opened his mouth and hesitated again, biting his lower lip. “All right then. Take care, Emerson.”

“You do the same. Smith.”

Arthur smiled again and left.

Merlin entered the café far too early in the morning, as he had the last three days, and threw his backpack into a corner. “This man… can you believe it? He doesn’t even accept coins from me, never mind notes.”

Mrs. Saratori sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me. I can’t afford to let him work for me here full-time, but I did offer him to eat for free. He’s never done that. He always pays with what he’s gotten from the streets. And this isn’t much; he isn’t exactly sitting in a perfect spot there. And well, he’s spending a lot of money on… other things. Anyway, ice cream and cake isn’t enough to keep him alive either way. So, the only thing he accepts from me is free coffee in the morning and sometimes tea in the afternoon, and even that is a hassle.”

“What about the Three Lions over there? They seem to have quite a bit of cheap meals on their menu.”

“Oh these…” Mrs. Saratori let out a stream of Italian words that Merlin freely translated into ‘fucking bastards’, but he could be wrong on that. What was perfectly clear was that she held no love at all for Lancelot and Guinevere. Merlin smiled. He had known from the moment they had met that this woman was brilliant. “Can you believe they banned him from their inn? The owner, Will Whatshisname, claimed that John said something derogatory about his wife. Complete nonsense, if you ask me. Johnny is such a polite boy.”

Merlin sat back for a moment, swallowing his first reaction, which would have been probably too loud for his surroundings. Arthur had recognized Guinevere but not him? Things couldn’t get more perfect. “They didn’t start brawling or something, did they?”

“I wasn’t here when that happened. Their waiter came over here a few days ago because they ran out of coffee, and told me what I’ve just told you. He’s quite nice, far too nice to work for these… you know.”

“Mhm.”

“Sweetheart, can I ask you a question?”

Merlin nodded. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Why are you so keen on helping Johnny?”

Merlin glanced at Mrs. Saratori and tried to keep a smile from his face. Her look wasn’t exactly suspicious, but neither was it trustful. “He reminds me of someone I lost quite a while ago,” he answered truthfully. “And well, I kinda like him. He’s prickly like a cactus, an obvious prat, but he also intrigues me. He’s living on the streets, far too young to survive out there, but he still keeps his head up and he’s proud, and I…” Merlin broke off because he suddenly noticed what he was babbling. When he saw her amused expression, he was close to banging his head on the table. He could only take a guess on how he must be looking. Like a love-struck idiot, probably. Merlin didn’t understand why Arthur had never seen how head over heels Merlin was for him. Gaius had known… as had Guinevere. Not from the start, mind, but she had caught on soon enough. And now Mrs. Saratori, who barely knew him, seemed to be able to look right through him, if her knowing smile was any indication.

“Well, if you really want to do something nice for him…”

“Yes?”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look… wealthy.”

“I told you, he doesn’t take my money. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Oh, I know. But there is something he really wants, and I can’t help him. Not because I can’t afford it but…”

Merlin leaned forward. “Please, go on.”

At 11 a.m. Merlin stood in front of the gates to the town’s pet shelter and wondered what the hell he was doing.

Part 2

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

silkmoth101 — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 12:45:20 GMT

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Community Pimping!

silkmoth101 — Mon, 13 Dec 2010 15:30:27 GMT

Good things come to those who wait... :)

The wonderful and talented nicci_mac created a new Merlin community!

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Merlin Fic: Bag of Snakes

silkmoth101 — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 03:17:17 GMT

Title: Bag of Snakes
Summary: A match made in heaven.
Warnings/Spoilers: Slash, First Time, Humor, Canon!AU, Mpreg (uh… kind of?), Spoilers for S1 and S2
Rating: PG-13?
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word Count: ~ 3.500
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.

Author’s Notes 1: There isn’t even a bit of angst in this one. And when I say Canon!AU, I mean CANON!AU. In caps.

Author’s Notes 2: I was drunk while I wrote this. Obviously.

Huge thanks to my beta keli . I think. She convinced me to post this thing, so part of the blame is hers.

Bag of Snakes

“You... What? You did what? Father, please tell me you’re kidding!”

Lord Balinor rolled his eyes. “Listen, Merlin… he’s a good match. Even you should…”

“Arthur PENDRAGON?”

“Well, it’s not as if you have to marry Uther, you know?” Seeing his son’s face becoming even more furious, Balinor sighed and let his head fall back on the back rest. He had known this would be difficult.

“Father… we’re talking about the Pendragons. You do still remember they’re the enemies, don’t you? We’re warlocks, the Pendragons kill everyone who looks even slightly like one! And on top of that… WHAT THE HELL? Why would Uther want to wed his son to another man? Doesn’t Arthur need an heir some day? And… is that even allowed?”

“It is when we say it is. And about the heir… you and I, we both know you can have children, if you want.”

Merlin stood up, startling red in the face, and Balinor sighed again. “Father… you didn’t tell that to Uther, did you! Gods, you did! That should be nothing to him! I can’t believe you did that!”

“He had already heard rumors, Son. And anyway, Uther isn’t so set against magic anymore… All right, he still is, but he wouldn’t mind some ally, some powerful, noble ally who can do magic. They apparently had quite a few problems with dark magic over the last years.”

“Of course they had! If you murder as many magicians as Uther did, a few people will be out for revenge!” Merlin sat down again, pale-faced now. “Why doesn’t he marry a witch?”

“Because there aren’t any witches who are also princesses,” Balinor replied calmly. “Merlin, think about it for a minute. This could mean the end of Uther’s war against magic. You could save hundreds of lives. And after all, you have agreed that I will choose your match.”

“That happened before you lost your mind! No, Father…”

“Merlin!”

“No! No, no, no! I won’t do it!” With that, Merlin jumped up and stormed out, startling guards and dogs with his haste.

Balinor huffed. He wondered if Uther was facing the same problems he was.

***

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Lower your voice, Son. You have no choice, it’s been decided.”

“Certainly not! You want me to marry a man? A man, who is a warlock? Are you NUTS?”

“Arthur!”

“NO, Father! I don’t like men that way! And HELL! I need to marry someone who can give me an heir.”

“He can.”

“He can what?”

“Get pregnant.”

Arthur stared at him, and Uther tried to control his breathing.

“What did you just say?”

“Prince Merlin can become pregnant.”

“But how… how can he even… EW! DO NOT TELL ME!”

“I can’t tell you because I have no idea how it works but it’s true.” Uther leaned forward. “Arthur… you have been the one pestering me about overthinking my stance on magic. And we both know that… well, we need help. The son of Lord Balinor is the perfect choice. Deal with it.”

***

“What?”

“I said, Uther and Arthur will arrive today.”

Merlin looked at his father out of big eyes. “Uther will come here? Into your realm?”

“Yes. He has agreed that the first meeting will take place here. Come on, Merlin, I wouldn’t send you to Camelot without entering into an agreement first.”

“Father, if I were you, I wouldn’t sign a treaty. I won’t marry this ass!”

Balinor sighed; he did that quite often lately. “You don’t even know Arthur yet. Who knows, maybe…”

“I know his father! That’s enough for me! You won’t find a bigger ass in all of Albion!”

“And I knew Arthur’s mother. She was a beautiful lady, inside and out… and Uther was a good man then, too.”

This time, Merlin sighed. “I know all the stories about Ygraine, Father… Morgause and Morgana do nothing else than talk about the old times. But Ygraine wasn’t there to raise Arthur… Father, did Arthur already agree to… this?”

Balinor did his best to try and listen to his son; alone the mentioning of Morgause and Morgana was one hell of a distraction. “I’m sorry? Oh yes, he did.”

“Why?”

Balinor shrugged. “I guess because Uther told him to?”

“See?” Flailing, Merlin jumped up. “That’s what I meant! That’s exactly what I meant! He is such a good little prince and does everything his father tells him to do! So in fact, I will be marrying Uther!”

Watching his son storming out of the throne room for the umpteenth time in the last weeks, Balinor nodded, satisfied. This conversation went far better than he thought it would.

***

“Arthur, could you maybe try and stop looking like you will throw up any minute?”

“That would be hard, Father. Because I feel like I will throw up any minute.”

“Arthur!” Uther reined his horse in and then he threw a warning glance to the knights and guards because they didn’t back off fast enough. And these were the best men he had… it was embarrassing, really. They were huddled together like frightened chicken.

“Father, I agreed to this… madness. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I still don’t understand why I have to marry a warlock! Couldn’t you just hire one?”

As if I haven’t tried, Uther thought grumpily. Well, it was better not to dwell too long on that disaster… after all, the next disaster was already waiting for them, if his son didn’t change his attitude. “Arthur… remember, Lord Balinor will be a very powerful ally. And as far as I heard, Prince Merlin is even more powerful. So please, mind your manners! Treat Merlin like…”

“Like what? A princess?”

“Uh… I guess?”

“Well, then let’s hope he looks like a princess!” With that, Arthur rode on and Uther followed, more slowly. After a few meters, the King turned his horse around again and yelled, “Would you mind coming with us?”

***

“Merlin! Open the damn door! Uther will arrive any moment!”

“I can’t, Father, I’m sorry. I don’t feel so good. I think I’m getting the runs,” the muffled reply came.

Although he knew it was completely futile, Balinor hammered against the door once more. “Merlin!”

“Sorry, Father.”

“My Lord?”

Balinor turned to face one of his house druids. Seeing murder in the eyes of the usually peaceable man, he sighed – again. “What is it, Elban?”

“King Uther has arrived.”

Balinor nodded, threw another furious look at the closed door and then he marched over to the stairs and down onto the courtyard.

Uther and his son had already dismounted, while the rest of their company was still sitting on their horses, looking like they would run away any minute.

“Balinor.”

“Uther.”

They shook hands, and Balinor had to give it to the other man; Uther at least tried to smile. His son on the other hand…

“Prince Arthur? Are you feeling… well?”

Arthur started to nod, then he laid a hand on his stomach and shook his head. “No, Lord Balinor, I’m afraid I’m not.”

Great. Two princes sitting on chamber pots. “I’m sorry, Prince Arthur. Maybe you would like to rest in your chambers for tonight?”

“That would be very appreciated, Lord Balinor.”

***

Dinner was a stunning success.

***

Arthur, bored out of his mind and hungry as hell –he had missed dinner, after all- looked down from the window onto some kind of garden. The full moon above him was quite bright, but still not bright enough for Arthur to make out whether it was a rose garden or something else. Not that it mattered, but he wondered -if it was indeed a rose garden- why there were so many gnarled trees in it.

I’m losing my mind. Sighing, Arthur leaned a bit forward to take a better look around. There seemed to be no one down there… and the scenery was peaceful. Maybe he should go on a little stroll under the moon… he couldn’t sleep anyway. But first he would search for the kitchens. Mind made up, Arthur went to the door, then he hesitated, looking at his sword. He knew their hosts didn’t approve of swords –and that was a sign of total madness- but that didn’t mean Arthur couldn’t take his sword with him wherever he liked. Mind your manners, my ass. I won’t let myself be carved up like a pig with one of those druid knives. Arthur remembered all too well the huge, weird, sickle-shaped daggers all of Lord Balinor’s men carried on their belts… and the way these men had looked at him and his father. Grabbing his sword, he silently opened the door and entered the completely empty hallway. Now… where were the kitchens?

***

Merlin, sitting under his favorite tree in his father’s herb garden, was bored out of his mind. Right now, he regretted not attending to dinner. He was hungry and –as he had heard from Elban- Prince Charming hadn’t even been there. Stomach problems. Yeah, sure, Merlin thought, more likely he had peed into his pants. Elban had also informed him gleefully of the way he and the other druids had terrorized Uther’s men. Hell, he had missed lots of fun this night.

A sudden clanking sound made him look up, and then Merlin had to put a hand over his mouth to not laugh out loud. One of Uther’s minions, a knight probably –his tunic looked too expensive to belong to a guard-, was trying to enter the Gardens with a sword. Merlin grinned. Look at this idiot. He scrambled to his feet quietly and sneaked closer to the twit who still tried to march through the lush archway, obviously not realizing why he couldn’t. I guess I will have some fun tonight, after all.

***

Arthur almost jumped out of his skin when a creepy voice whispered right into his ear, “Don’t you know it’s not allowed to be out here in the dark?” Spinning around, he couldn’t see anyone, but he heard a weird, demonic laughter. He swallowed hard but refused to let himself be spooked into running away. “Who’s there? Come out where I can see you!”

“In the dark, I can steal your soul…”

This time, Arthur backed off a step, hair standing up on end, hand on his sword. Before he could actually draw it, he heard the evil laughter again… and then it changed into a helpless sounding giggling. Baring his teeth, Arthur went forward again, only to crash once more into the invisible barrier below the archway, which brought on another burst of laughter from someone. “Whoever you are, you’re amused easily, aren’t you?” Arthur hissed. “Show yourself!”

Finally, a dark head popped up out of one of the bushes to Arthur’s left side, still laughing. Arthur stared at the guy; he had a weird face, the angles seemed to be off somehow, not to mention the protruding ears but… far more fascinating were the sparkling blue-gold eyes. Arthur had never seen such eyes before. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” The guy asked back, smirking. “The bravest or the most stupid of Uther’s knights?”

“I’m Uther’s son.” Wrong thing to say. The smirk vanished, the mischief vanished, and the other man’s eyes seemed to be orange now.

“Ah shit! You’re Arthur?”

“Yeah… why do you… ah shit! You’re Merlin?”

“Yeah.”

The two princes stared listlessly at each other for a moment. Then Merlin huffed. “Well, let’s get this over then. Come in here… and drop your sword first, Crown Prince.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur leaned his sword against the fence and entered the garden. Good grief, he thought. He certainly doesn’t look like a princess. He’s taller than I am. Great. Just great.

***

“So… my father told me you can… uh… you’re a very powerful… warlock?”

“Why? You want a new brain? I’m good, but not that good.”

***

“All right… you think you can handle the magical threats on Camelot?”

“Well… I can promise you, no one will harm me. Your husband will survive.”

***

“Okay. Is it at least true you can … uh, give birth to my heir?”

“Wow. We know each other a few minutes and you’re already asking me if you can knock me up? Explains a lot… for example, why you haven’t managed to marry a nice girl yet.”

“As far as I heard, you’re not exactly beating them off with a stick either!”

“That’s true. I’m beating boys off with a stick. I’m picky. Sadly, my father isn’t.”

***

Only Lord Balinor and King Uther appeared at breakfast. It was a very peaceful affair.

***

The wedding party had just -just- arrived at Camelot when Morgana thought it funny to sic an undead on Uther. The gray and awful smelling not-dead knight including his horse went up in flames by one glance of Merlin. To his utter mortification, Merlin noticed too late that he had just saved Uther’s life. Morgana and he glared at each other for awhile, while his father, with his ‘Wasn’t that fun?’ expression on his face, banged a pale looking Uther hard on the back. Arthur, on the other hand, looked at Merlin as if considering the odds of the same happening to him on their wedding night.

Merlin was far too caught up in the silent hissy-fit he had going on with Morgana to pet his future husband’s head; and anyway, it wasn’t as if he wanted to reassure Arthur. It was bad enough that a tiny, tiny part of him actually looked forward to becoming married to the blond prince. Arthur might be a half-wit, but he liked to yell at Uther… and he was also kind of brave. Merlin had found out on the second day of their visit to his father’s home. A fairy had been flying toward Merlin, pink all over and therefore clearly with good intentions, and Arthur had jumped right in front of Merlin, sword drawn, and had gotten a facefull of fairy dust. If it had been, say, a black fairy, Arthur would have been dead. As it was, he had only stopped speaking and smiled a lot for two days.

And sadly, Merlin was a sucker for brave guys.

***

With all the fun, the cheering and swearing going on, no one noticed Mordred arriving, so the little shit managed to sneak up on Arthur. Things first got bloody, then awkward, then blurry and in the end awkward again. Merlin really wished Elban and Morgana would stop yelling; after all, none of what happened had been his fault. He hadn’t known Mordred was meant to be the grand leader of the druids some time in the future, and even if he had known, what did they expect? Him clapping his hands while his betrothed went down in a spray of blood? It had been a good idea to hex the little ass into a dandelion so he could unhurriedly heal Arthur. How the hell could he have known there were so many goats out for dandelions in Camelot?

***

He would never admit it, not even under the threat of death, but Arthur found himself looking forward to being wed to Merlin. It wasn’t so much the fact that the guy could obviously save whole Albion from dark magic attacks without moving one finger… this part was actually scary and a bit creepy. No, it was more about Merlin’s humor, for example. Although he did his best to not show it and laugh, Merlin was… funny. And not boring. And weirdly good-looking. In the last weeks, Arthur had obviously developed a fondness for tall, dark haired, pale, lanky, blue-eyed guys. He was doomed.

Then, there was the way the other prince sometimes looked at him. It made all the fine hairs on his body stand up on end, and not in a bad way. Arthur just hoped Merlin would know what to do tonight, because he had no idea at all.

Sighing, Arthur stood up and surveyed his armor once more. He really wished it would be formal enough for the ceremony. He suspected that neither Lord Balinor nor Merlin nor… Morgana, who was somehow related to his soon-to-be husband, would be amused if Arthur didn’t look his best on his wedding day. With another sigh, he glanced at his sword that was standing a bit lost in one corner of his chambers. Merlin had been very clear on that… he didn’t want any swords at the wedding. After Uther and the rest of Camelot had seen what Merlin was able to do, they all had agreed, if a little reluctantly. Arthur hoped this didn’t mean he had to give up swords completely.

***

When Arthur entered the throne room, praying to the Gods he looked proud and graceful and not scared to death, the first thing he saw was the pained expression on his father’s face. Then he noticed that every Pendragon banner, even the ones on the guards’ tunics, had changed. They were now sporting chewing goats.

***

To everyone’s surprise, no one died at the wedding.

***

“Arthur, would you please come to bed? I promise I won’t hex you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Merlin smiled; his brandnew husband had become more and more skittish over the last hours; when Uther and his father had announced the time had come for the bridal couple to retreat to their chambers, Arthur had frozen. He still had to thaw yet.

“Arthur…”

“Why are you so calm?”

“Maybe because I could hex you into a toad when you make a wrong move?”

“You’re so very funny.”

Merlin laughed and then suddenly groaned; before his husband could twitch he was out of bed and over at the door, opening it. “If you two want to survive this night, go away and listen in to someone else. If I’m not very mistaken, Father has something going on with a maid. Perverts.” He shut the door again and waited until he heard Elban and Morgana packing up their pillows and candles and moving along toward his father’s chambers, grumbling. Seriously. When he turned around again, he saw Arthur looking more shell-shocked than ever. All right. Words didn’t help here, obviously.

Merlin marched over, and since Arthur was already pressed against the wall, he pressed him a bit more against it and kissed him, very sloppily. As he had expected, in the next minute he found himself pushed against the wall, Arthur taking over with a vengeance. Things became quite brilliant after that.

Some time later, while he was still petting the blond hair on his shoulder, Merlin pondered that he could have done worse, husband-wise. He also noticed that there was the very possibility of him falling for Arthur. Ah well. It wasn’t as if he had to tell him, after all.

***

“Arthur… not that this isn’t really great and all… but if you want an heir, we have to work on your stamina.”

“I, uh, don’t really want an heir.”

“… since when?”

“It’s just… it won’t work. It will never fit in.”

“Aw. Believe me, it will.”

***

“Uggnnnfff…”

“…yeah.”

***

“A girl! She is so beautiful, Merlin!”

“Yeah, she is. I just hope she’s also got my brains.”

***

“A boy! Would you look at him? He’s gorgeous!”

“This one takes after you. It was bloody difficult to get him out.”

***

“TWINS!”

“I admit defeat. Arthur, I love you, but you won’t ever touch me again.”

“D’awww. I love you, too, Merlin.”

“Did you even listen to me? I meant that. Arthur… ah, whatever.”

***

Geoffrey had long ago given up counting the many little princesses and princes running around. So had Uther, but the King was enjoying his grandchildren immensely. For some incomprehensible reason, he was especially fond of the firstborn, Yselle, no matter that she was hexing him into some kind of frog every time she could get away with it. Balinor threw worried glances at his son and dark looks at his son-in-law, whenever he was around. Thankfully, he wasn’t in Camelot often, not since he had –to everyone’s horror- married one of Camelot’s maids, Guinevere. Merlin spent his days lying in the grass, watching out for their kids and making fun of his husband, who was, although nearly forty years old, still not King. And Arthur… Arthur was simply happy.

The End.

~ Marriage is like putting your hand into a bag of snakes in the hope of pulling out an eel. ~

Leonardo Da Vinci

Merlin Fic: Deception

silkmoth101 — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 09:06:24 GMT

Title: Deception
Summary: When the other man finally lifted his head, Merlin felt the overwhelming need to sit down; he hadn’t seen this look in Arthur’s eyes for almost two years.
Warnings/Spoilers: Slash, Angst, Romance, Spoilers for all Seasons (to be on the safe side; if you’re familiar with the Legend, it shouldn’t be spoilery. I think.)
Rating: R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word Count: 1.614
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.

Author’s notes: If you like Gwen, you may want to skip this one.

Huge thanks to my beta keli ! *squeezes her* She told me: “Stop! Do you really want to do it this way?” As it turned out, I really didn’t want to. :)

Another thank you for accioslash ! Heh! This bunny zigzagged so my question wasn’t important anymore, but still… without your answer I would have never started writing. :)

Deception

“You will lift the spell, Gwen.”

Gwen, who had her hands buried in white silk -Uther isn’t dead yet and you’re already quite busy with your wedding gown, aren’t you, my dear? Merlin thought coldly- turned around and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You understood me fine. You have learned a few things from Morgana, haven’t you? Lift the spell on Arthur, Gwen, or you can join her wherever she may be hiding now.”

“Are you insane?”

Merlin didn’t answer. Arms crossed, he leaned back on the wooden door of Gwen’s chambers and watched the not-future queen fidgeting. Finally, Gwen let go of the silk and came around the bed to face him, head held high, eyes flickering. Merlin felt his magic rising and knew it showed in his own eyes when he saw Gwen faltering and jerking to a halt.

“You can’t make me!”

“You want to challenge me? Really?”

Gwen smiled in an ugly way. “He will never believe you! We will marry, Merlin… and anyway…” now she tried to look coy, “… I love him. You don’t have to worry.”

Merlin huffed. “If this should be the truth, it’s your problem. Arthur doesn’t love you… and you will not become Queen, Gwen. If you really want to marry someone you’ve put under a spell, marry Lancelot; I won’t hinder you. As the wife of the First Knight, you will also gain a high position. But you will let Arthur go.”

“I will do no such thing, but you will leave my chambers NOW!” Gwen yelled, probably hoping one of the guards outside in the hall would hear her.

Merlin smiled and straightened up slowly. Although it was late Spring and all the windows were closed, a sudden icy wind blew through the room, tearing at Gwen’s hair and clothes. “It seems you really didn’t understand me, Gwen. You telling me ‘No!’ is not an option. And you can scream as loud as you want, no one will hear you.”

“YOU…”

Merlin interrupted her. “Let me lay it out for you, my dear. You will lift the spell right here, right now. If you don’t do this… there are other ways to break a spell. You could die, for example.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t think I won’t do it. I’m not Arthur, Gwen. I don’t care if I have to kill a woman. I won’t allow anyone to ruin Arthur’s life.”

Backing off slowly, Gwen looked scared now. “You won’t! You will only hurt Arthur! He would be devastated!”

“So you’re not only a deceiver, you’re also stupid. You don’t listen, Gwen. The moment you die, the spell will break. Arthur will be confused, maybe, but he won’t feel any more grief than he would feel if any servant died. Because that’s what you are for him, in truth… just another servant.”

While his own magic swirled around her, Merlin watched and listened to a crying Gwen lifting the love spell; inwardly, he was relieved. To threaten Gwen with death was one thing, actually killing her though… Merlin was quite happy to not have to find out if he could do this.

The moment Gwen was finished, he said, “Don’t try your hand at sorcery again. Ever. Mark my words, Gwen.” Merlin was already at the door, when he paused for another moment. “If I were you, I would leave these chambers immediately, and return to your hut.” With that, Merlin finally left and headed toward Arthur’s rooms.

***

Merlin entered the prince’s chambers quietly. His gaze seeked out Arthur and found him sitting on the bed, head bowed. Not entirely sure what he should expect, Merlin went slowly over to the prince and hesitated when he reached a bedpost, grabbing it. Merlin didn’t know what to say or ask; he couldn’t even venture a guess on Arthur’s feelings. When the other man finally lifted his head, Merlin felt the overwhelming need to sit down; he hadn’t seen this look in Arthur’s eyes for almost two years.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin.”

Sitting down beside Arthur and blinking rapidly to keep away those stupid tears, Merlin shook his head. “None of this was your fault.” In the next moment, he was crushed to Arthur’s chest; the prince clutched him so tightly it was getting hard to breathe.

“I hurt you so badly, I…” Arthur broke off, apparently already at a loss for words, and Merlin closed his eyes. The memories were still far too vivid… first the surprise and then the indescribable pain to be cast aside all of a sudden, to hear Arthur’s cold statement about the change of their relationship, to watch Arthur with Gwen… and his own stupidity! I even tried to cheer her on! How very noble… I’m such an idiot! Swallowing hard, Merlin repeated, “It wasn’t your fault, Arthur. To the contrary… if you hadn’t told me how uncomfortable you felt with her… not to mention the thing with Gwaine, I would never had suspected her to use magic. Some warlock I am.”

Arthur drew back a bit and laid a hand on Merlin’s cheek to brush away some of the annoying wetness there, not looking too stable himself. “I guess I have to thank Gwaine for making me jealous, hm?”

“Not if you don’t want to kill the man. Especially when he learns I’m the reason for your jealousy,” Merlin answered, trying to smile a bit. It didn’t work yet.

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” Arthur whispered.

Merlin didn’t know how he looked at Arthur, but the prince leaned forward and then hesitated again. It doesn’t make sense, Merlin thought, but he’s probably just as shy as I am. Gods, two years! Almost too slowly, he raised his hands and let them slide upward over Arthur’s arms to finally enfold his face. His throat far too tight to speak, Merlin leaned in to kiss the other man. As their lips met and hesitantly opened to each other, Merlin could hear Arthur’s muffled sob while he melted against him.

It should have felt weird to kiss again after two years, but it didn’t. All the good memories, which had been buried under pain, came flooding back; the way Arthur tasted and smelled; the way his hands were gliding down possessively over Merlin’s back to his ass and were at the same time destroying his higher brain functions as always. Far too soon, Merlin had to throw his head back to gasp for air and then gasp even louder when Arthur’s lips found his neck. “Gods, Arthur!”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

***

Clothes were shed quickly; with a naked Arthur looming above him, Merlin bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping the faint pain would help him to not go off in the next minute. “How… what do you want?”

“Nothing fancy. I won’t… last long anyway. Not this time.”

“Good.” Merlin drew Arthur down on top of him, and the moment their naked bodies settled together, both of them moaned. It felt like heaven. For so long, Merlin had missed and craved this closeness; overwhelmed again by his emotions and the heat Arthur was emitting, Merlin entwined his legs around Arthur’s waist. This made Arthur thrust his hips even more powerful against Merlin’s; holding on somehow, Merlin skimmed his hands over Arthur’s buttocks and squeezed slightly. Arthur’s mouth broke free of his and he gave a harsh groan, staring down at Merlin out of almost completely dark eyes. When he saw the longing on Arthur’s face, Merlin felt his own eyes rolling backward; he arched up helplessly, baring his neck. “Please…”

A minute later, he felt Arthur bite down hard on his neck, and Merlin came apart. Only vaguely aware of Arthur who shuddered and moaned just as badly as he, Merlin held on to the other man for dear life. Gasping in breath after breath, Merlin felt Arthur hugging him even tighter than before, then his tongue licked tenderly over the bite mark on Merlin’s neck, and Merlin groaned again. He wondered dimly how he had survived life without this.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered. “I love you.”

Smiling, suddenly the easiest thing in the world, Merlin closed his eyes.

***

Arthur had tucked his head under Merlin’s chin, and Merlin stroked soothingly over Arthur’s still trembling back. “How’s your father?”

The prince shook his head. “He’s getting worse every day. Gaius will send for me when… you know.”

“Yeah.” Merlin pressed his lips on the blond hair. No matter how hopelessly divided father and son were, Merlin knew that Arthur still loved Uther… and how painful his death would be for the prince. He also knew that Arthur would be declared King on the same day, and Merlin already cringed when he thought about what this would cost the man in his arms.

As if reading his thoughts, Arthur’s embrace became tighter. “As long as you’re here…”

“I’ll always be here, Arthur.”

The prince relaxed again, and just when Merlin thought Arthur had fallen asleep finally, he spoke up again. “When my father… I want her gone from Camelot.”

Considering this, Merlin nosed through the blond hair. “You will probably lose Lancelot, then. He will leave with her.”

“I don’t care anymore.”

“All right. Let me handle this.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything, Arthur. Anything.”

The End.

Inspired by this song:

THIS I could watch the whole day.

silkmoth101 — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 18:15:09 GMT

Thanks so much zooz for the link.

Who would have ever thought I can watch A/G and LAUGH MY ASS OFF!

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

Worksafe? It depends on where you work. :)

Please leave your feedback HERE

Wild Justice 10b/10 - Completed

silkmoth101 — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 12:56:14 GMT

Title: Wild Justice (10b/10)
Summary: When Prince Arthur returns to Camelot after a horrible fight with raiders, he thinks he can find a little peace. He is wrong.
Warning/Spoiler: Slash, First Time, H/C, Angst, Protective!Arthur, Hurt!Merlin, Rape (non-explicit), Violence, Non-Con, ALC (Arthurian Legend Characters), OCs, Spoilers for Season One and Two
Rating: R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word Count for this part: 13.177
Word Count for whole story: 53.600
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.

Author’s notes: The entire story deals with the theme of violence, rape and taking care of someone who was raped. Please don’t read if any of this can trigger you.

Spoilers and thanks can be seen in part one, here.

Part B.

Throwing his gloves on the wooden floor, Arthur wiped his right hand over his face to get the sweat off. Completely disgusted, he saw the hand coming away bloody… of course. He had forgotten the bloodstream that had hit his face after he had sliced through Badyn’s wrist. For a moment, he stared at his hand, not sure what to do. Then Bedivere appeared beside him, shoving a towel into his hand.

“Here, take this for now, Sire.”

“Thank you.” While Arthur cleaned his face and hand, he noticed how quiet it was. A king, a prince and seven knights in one small hut, and the room was still absolutely silent. He finally looked up at the strange tableau in front of him. His father was sitting at the table, still tied up and pale like death, behind him, Arthur’s knights –and now they were truly his knights- were standing in a half circle. “Bedivere?” His oldest knight came forward, handing the parchments over. Arthur could see his father twitching, but Uther didn’t say a word.

After Arthur had skimmed through them, he felt an ugly smile forming on his lips. Interesting.

“Arthur…”

The prince raised his hand. “Now, Father, what you’ve written here is quite unfortunate for Camelot, some of my knights… and for me, I’m afraid.”

“You know as well as I do, I wasn’t in my right mind!”

“No need to raise your voice, Father.” Arthur looked at Uther again, his smile becoming broader. “I do remember… you were under a spell, weren’t you?”

Uther, now red in the face, tried to stand up and suddenly stopped, when he saw Arthur raising his hand again and Bedivere stepping forward again quickly.

“Please take your seat again, Father. Thank you. Are you sure you’re not under a spell anymore?”

“Of course I’m not! So untie me!”

Arthur nodded toward Bedivere, who, not looking too happy, cut the ropes with his knife. “Good. Very good. Because these papers, in which you are sentencing me, your court physician and my manservant to death and…” Arthur took another look, “…pass the prince’s crown after my death to Badyn… well, they are most unfortunate for you, too. I think it’s best that I keep them to myself for the time being. We wouldn’t want anyone else to see them, would we? And you, Father, will now write another enunciation … which you will announce tomorrow to the royal court. Kay, please hand my father quill and ink.”

Kay brought it, then the knight turned slightly and stared at Uther. He looked like he would prefer to make Arthur King right here and now. Only as Uther became pale again did Kay step back and take his place beside Bedivere. Arthur smiled again, a real smile this time. It was unbelievable… but Kay had just managed to stare even a king into the ground.

“What do you think I should write?”

Arthur sat down and laid his folded hands on the table. “You will write that from now on, I’m in authority of everything that has to do with magic in Camelot, Father. Meaning, I’m the prosecutor, the judge and the executioner.”

“I won’t write anything like this!” Again, Uther tried to rise and a knight stepped forward quickly. It was again Kay, but this time, his hand was on the hilt of his sword.

“How dare you,” Uther hissed at the blond knight, but still sat down.

“I don’t think Kay trusts you, Father. Neither do I. You’re under spells a bit too often, you see magic where there is none, and lose sight of it when it’s obvious.”

Uther leaned back in his chair, sneering. “You mean like yourself… having a manservant for two years and not noticing he’s a warlock… you think that’s trustworthy?”

Arthur couldn’t stop smiling; inwardly, he felt completely calm. As it turned out, he knew his father inside out… and his father didn’t know his son at all. “Well, Father, from tomorrow on you won’t have to concern yourself about whether that’s true or not. And anyway… who told you this? Oh, I forgot… I think it was the man who put you under a spell. I see.”

Uther leaned forward again, quickly. “I have proof, Arthur! I’ve seen…”

“What? A few knocked out guards? I’ve heard about this. That’s what you call proof of magic?”

“Why should Badyn have done something like this? There was no need to…”

Now Arthur leaped forward, suddenly furious. “Because he wanted to make sure he could lie his way out of the fact he had raped and tortured Merlin for days! He knew you wouldn’t even care about something like this happening to a sorcerer! That is why!” Arthur spat.

Uther stared at him for a moment, then he sat back again, crossing his arms. “I won’t write this nonsense. You have no idea how to handle magic… you were always too soft. I won’t write it, Son. And if we leave now, immediately, I will forget the disobedience you and… your knights have shown me here. I may even consider to let your… manservant, for whom you seem to care so deeply, leave Camelot.”

Arthur couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. It’s funny and sad at the same time. He tries to bargain with me. He is going down right in front of me. Behind his father, Arthur could see the knights looking at each other. They can feel it, too. Oh, Father.

“If you won’t write this down, Father, and put your seal on it, it would be –again- most unfortunate for you.”

“Why? What do you want to do, Arthur? Kill me?”

“No. No, as you said, I’m too… soft for things like that.” Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you would have to stay here for awhile… a few weeks, maybe even a bit longer. I would make sure someone would take good care of you, though, don’t worry. For as long as it would take to raise an army and overtake Cendred… Father, do tell me…do you want to see me as King on the throne of Aesctir?”

Uther, white as a sheet, stared at him. “The army of Camelot won’t follow you. Never! You’re far too young… they will gather around Gaelin!”

“Mhm. You’re probably right. Not all of them will follow me… although I’m sure more than you think will. Maybe only pretending to follow me, I give you that, and in truth follow Bedivere and Kay. The soldiers almost worship them, Father. And the guards fear them. But I know that you’re not aware of these things anymore.”

“A few won’t…”

“I forgot to tell you. Merlin wasn’t the only one tortured by Badyn.” Arthur looked up at Gawain to see if the young man still agreed with this and saw him nodding. “You see, he has also assaulted Gawain. What do you think will happen when me and my knights ride to King Lot’s realm and tell him about what had come to pass here? And when I show him this?” Arthur held up the one parchment, written and sealed by his father that would have made Badyn the new Crown Prince of Camelot.

“How do you think King Lot will react to this? Do you think he and his army would help me and ride with me to Aesctir and destroy Cendred’s family? You know, I think he will. King Lot may be an ally of yours, Father, but he is most certainly not your pal. Neither is Henry’s father. You managed to alienate quite a few of your allies in the last years… and you have completely forgotten that a few of the knights standing behind you are not only -by your orders- noble men… some of them are also the sons of kings.” He glanced at Kay. “King Ector.” Bedivere. “King Gandrad.” Lamorak. “King Pellinore. With these papers, you sentenced their sons to death.”

“When I wrote this, I was under a spell! I…”

“Father, what would you do if one of them would want to kill me or actually would have killed me… and then told you that they couldn’t have helped it, because they were under the influence of magic?”

Uther didn’t answer.

Arthur smiled again. “Think about it, and think fast. I want to take a bath to wash the remains of that bastard out there off me.”

Uther stared for another moment at Arthur, then at the table. Finally, he took an empty piece of parchment and started to write, his hands trembling.

*~*~*~*

The gruesome parade bound for Camelot was led by Uther, closely followed by Sir Lamorak. The lanky knight grimaced with disgust, pulling behind him the reins of the three horses with the bodies on them. Galahad and Gaheris were riding in silence a few paces behind Lamorak. After a distance of about ten yards, Arthur, Gawain and Percival followed the others; Gawain in the middle, Arthur and Percival were riding so close to the young knight their legs touched his.

Bedivere and Kay brought up the rear. Kay could see –and how he wished he couldn’t- the bloody linen bag on the left side of Arthur’s saddle, with Badyn’s head in it. The knight didn’t need to be a genius to know whom Arthur would want to show that head. Kay really doubted that Merlin would like to see it. But if the boy… no, the man wanted to stay beside Arthur –and this Kay didn’t doubt for a moment- he would have to get used to this side of the prince.

Kay sighed and rode on. After a few more silent minutes, he turned to Bedivere.

“You know, if we were a pack of wolves, Uther would be dead by now.”

Bedivere remained silent for so long that Kay started to wonder if he hadn’t been heard or if he had overstepped a line. But finally, the older knight answered.

“In a way, Uther did die tonight. He knows it, and Arthur knows it, too. After tonight, things will change in Camelot.”

*~*~*~*

When they got close to the castle, Arthur urged his horse forward until he caught up with his father. An icy glare met him, and Arthur was sure his own eyes were just as cold. “Do yourself a favor, Father… don’t ever forget about the papers I’m in possession of. Don’t make the mistake to think I won’t use them… because I will if something happens to those close to me.”

“You made yourself quite clear… Son.”

“Good.”

They rode into the inner courtyard and were greeted by Sir Gaelin, who rushed to the side of Uther, helping him down from his horse. “My Lord! We were so worried! What happened?”

Uther grunted something and Arthur, still sitting on his horse, rode a bit closer to the older men. “My father was abducted by Prince Badyn,” he pointed to the horses behind with the bodies on them. “If I were you, Gaelin, I’d be a bit more observant in the future… as it is, for tonight at least, two of my knights will stand guard in front of the King’s chambers. We don’t know yet if there are any more traitors here in the castle, and my father will need some undisturbed sleep. Won’t you, Father?” Arthur asked.

Uther looked up at him for a minute, then he nodded. “Yes, I need to rest. You always take good care of me, Son.”

“And I always will, Father. Lamorak, Galahad, would you please accompany the King?”

The moment his father had vanished inside the castle, Arthur dismounted, as did the rest of his knights. Arthur threw his reins at the next guard and took the linen bag with Badyn’s head in it. “Bring the horses to the stables and take the bodies to a cold place, under the castle perhaps. The King will decide what to do with them tomorrow.” Then Arthur took off in the direction of Gaius’ rooms; he had hidden his anxiety as well as he had been able to, but now, with his father taken care of, it started to gnaw on him again. He barely noticed the other knights, who were close on his heels, and burst through the door to the laboratory, looking around for Merlin.

The first one he saw was Sir Henry with a drawn sword; the knight sheathed it quickly again, a look of relief on his face. “Gods, Sire, I’m so glad that…” Arthur couldn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because Lady Caelly’s outcry of joy almost deafened him. The beautiful young noblewoman rushed past him, clinging to Gawain, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

Arthur looked around once more, noticing the bed where he had left Merlin was empty. He walked across the laboratory, ignoring Gaius who was already ranting about Percival’s head wound, also ignoring the mess on the floor –everywhere were broken bottles and stuff-… Merlin had to be in his room. He had to… but he wasn’t.

Arthur turned about again, and this time, he grabbed Gaius’ arm. “Where the hell is Merlin?”

The old man glared at him, and for a second Arthur thought he wouldn’t answer. “He’s gone upstairs to your chambers. He said he wanted to prepare a bath for you… Sire.”

“He… WHAT? And you let him go? ”

“Yes. And now…” Gaius shook off Arthur’s hand, “… please excuse me, Sire. I have to patch up Sir Percival.”

At first, Arthur was immensely relieved… he didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but since he had kind of seen Merlin’s face when the man’s magic had saved him from death, he had been afraid to come here and find Merlin dead. But the feeling of relief didn’t last long… suddenly Arthur became furious. “Sir Henry, a word if you may!”

Henry already stood at the door, a strange expression on his face. “Of course, Sire.”

***

“Would you please explain to me why you let Merlin leave here? I told you to watch over him… and to not let him out of your sight, not even for a minute!”

“Sire…” Henry paused, looking extremely uncomfortable, and averted his eyes.

“WHAT?”

“While you were gone, a few things happened down here. Uh… a few hours after you had left, Merlin fell asleep suddenly. Or so we thought. I remember… I was surprised. We all were so nervous and… well. But soon afterwards, he started to thrash around and he was making awful noises. We all thought he was having nightmares… Gaius tried to wake him… but he couldn’t. No matter what we tried, we couldn’t wake him up. And then…” Henry paused again for a moment, “… Arthur, I swear to the Gods, I’m not making this up. The whole castle… it shook… I don’t know how to explain it. Everything was moving, it was so loud… almost every bottle Gaius had in there fell to the floor and crashed… and then, just as sudden… it stopped. And Merlin woke up.”

“Then what? Did he explain what happened?”

“Uh… well, after some time he stood up and came over to me… he told me that… you were safe. That everything was alright and you were all on your way back. Arthur, I’ve known sorcerers since I was a child… none of them were like Merlin but still… I knew he was right. We all believed him. So… I’m sorry, but I let him go. I’m not even sure if I could have stopped him anyway.”

Arthur rubbed over his face with one hand; he felt tired to the bone. “It’s alright, Henry. I’ll just go up there now… thank you.” He turned to leave but was hindered by the knight, who took his arm. “Arthur… there was something else.”

“What?”

“When Merlin woke up… he was dazed. Gaius wanted to know what happened… I was pretty close so I could overhear them. Merlin… he asked, ‘Why am I not dead?’ After that, he didn’t say a thing until he came to me. Arthur… he didn’t seem to be exactly happy to find himself alive.”

*~*~*~*

Kay, standing in a little alcove in the hall, watched Arthur’s expression change from tired to furious again in one second. Then the prince spun around and ran toward the stairs, not even noticing Kay although he rushed straight past him. Kay pushed off from the wall behind him and went over to Henry. “That went well.”

“I don’t know, Kay. Something weird is going on.”

“Isn’t something always?”

“No… I meant… with Merlin. He seemed to be completely changed.”

Kay sighed. “Henry, a lot happened to him over the last days… horrible stuff. So…”

“No, I don’t mean that either. Something… I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. But I would bet that Arthur won’t get much sleep tonight.”

For the first time since he had laid eyes on Arthur, Kay noticed that –right now- he just didn’t care. “I’m sure he will figure something out. I will get lots of sleep tonight.” Kay stretched and groaned when he heard his bones crack ominously. “Gods, I’m tired. And hungry. Hell, I’m hungry!”

“I could eat something, too,” a third voice chimed in. Bedivere, smiling at Kay, asked, “Should I grab something from the kitchens and come by?”

“You’d do that? It would be brilliant!”

“Sure. Just try and not fall asleep until I’m there.”

Good mood suddenly restored, Kay watched the door to Gaius’ room open again; Caelly and Gawain came out, followed by Gaheris and a bit battered looking Percival… Gaius was still ranting at him. Gawain just managed to wave at Kay before he was dragged away by the tiny woman at his side. Percival staggered in the opposite direction, supported by Gaheris.

“Ah Henry… everyone is pairing up. We’re doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think you’re doing something wrong, Kay.”

“Huh?”

Henry smiled and shook his head slowly. “You’ll find out.”

*~*~*~*

Arthur stood in front of his chambers, taking the second deep breath. He would not lose it. He had just come home, he had won their future tonight. So he would not go in there and lose it, he would not yell, just because this stupid twit inside had wanted to kill himself on Arthur’s behalf. He would not… Arthur sighed. There wasn’t any doubt that he would lose it, so he should go in there and have it out with Merlin. He stepped forward to open the door and came up against the lock. Right. Why not lose it right out here in the hall?

“DAMMIT, MERLIN! Open the damn door!”

Arthur heard some clattering sounds coming from inside the rooms, then the lock was opened and Arthur immediately entered, throwing the bloody bag in one corner, followed by a just as bloody armor and chain mail. Then he turned around to face Merlin. The other man stood behind the bath tub with a weird expression on his face; Arthur suspected that Merlin had wanted to greet him far more enthusiastically but thought twice after he had heard him yelling in front of the door.

“Uh… I thought you’d like to take a bath. It’s ready.”

Arthur ignored the bath and stalked around the tub toward Merlin; he only stopped when he saw the warlock retreating. He didn’t want to scare Merlin, but… Bloody Hell!

“I can’t believe you did this.” Even Arthur himself winced when he heard how hoarsely his voice sounded. “I can’t believe you just stood there, and let me talk about how happy I am. You smiled. You smiled! You told me you would explain things when I come back. You promised me! What do you think would have happened to me when I would have come back to find you dead because of me? Huh?”

Merlin didn’t answer; he just stared at Arthur out of big eyes, his lower lip trembling a bit.

Arthur continued speaking far more quietly. “I’ll tell you what would have happened. You would have given my father a splendid reason for the next search for a new heir. I would have killed myself.”

“Arthur…”

“No! You don’t seem to understand what you mean to me! I don’t know, maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I’m just too… dumb to make myself clear. You’re everything to me, Merlin. If I had found you dead tonight, nothing would have mattered anymore.”

“Stop! Stop saying things like that!” Merlin backed off even further until the back of his legs bumped into the bed; he sat down hard. “It’s my destiny to protect you… but I doubt that I… can do it again.”

Arthur went over to the crestfallen man and sat down beside him. “Good! Because I want you to promise me you will never do something like this again!”

Merlin shook his head slowly. “You don’t understand. I can’t promise you. I’ll always try to save you, any way I can. But I don’t think I can help with magic again. I… I think it’s gone.” After he said this, Merlin wrapped his arms around his waist; his eyes were shut tightly and Arthur heard him swallow one sob. Then Merlin started to cry hopelessly.

Completely bemused, Arthur shoved his anger about Merlin’s self-sacrifice away and hugged the other man tightly. “What are you talking about? I have the key right here! Come on, let’s get that thing off your leg.”

Wriggling out of Arthur’s arms, Merlin slid backwards on the mattress, still crying. “No! Look at it!” He hitched up the sleeping pants, revealing the bracket. It wasn’t silver-red anymore, it had become completely black. “After I put the… spell on you… when you left… it started to change color. I didn’t know what it meant, and I didn’t care. But… when I… woke up tonight, it was black. I’m sure… it isn’t working anymore. But I still can’t do a thing. My magic is gone.”

“Merlin…”

“No! It’s gone! Do you know what that means? I’m useless for you. I’m nothing! I should…”

“Merlin, dammit!” Arthur followed the other man over the bed and finally got a hold on Merlin’s hands. “Please, calm down for a moment.”

The prince had no idea whether Merlin was right about his magic or not, but he knew he had to stop this spiral downward immediately. By now, he recognized the signs of retreat, of… something close to self-hatred in Merlin’s behaviour. Arthur had the unsettling feeling that this wasn’t something entirely related to what happened in the last days; in two years, he had often noticed that Merlin tended to try and prove himself worthy over and over again… when he was with him or with Gaius. Arthur just had to think about the disaster that had happened when he took on another servant –who turned out to be a thief but whatever- and how Merlin had reacted. From the first moment on, Merlin had been scared to be cast aside by Arthur… and while he knew some blame lay at his own feet for this, Merlin’s panic had still been way over the top. It seemed as if Merlin wasn’t able to see what had been obvious to many others… that almost from the beginning, Merlin had been closer to the prince than any other person, including his knights and his father.

“Merlin… come on, look at me. I know how frightening this must be for you… no, scratch that, I have no idea how you feel right now. But let me tell you, I don’t care if you can do magic or not. But I know it’s very important for you, maybe too important. And I do care about you. About you, not about a powerful warlock or a brilliant manservant.” Seeing how badly Merlin tried to get away from him, Arthur let him go, but still continued speaking. “I can see you don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you? Why, Merlin? Who told you you have to be… something more than just yourself?”

Merlin stared at him out of haunted eyes. “I’m nothing,” he repeated. “The only thing I had was… and if it’s not there anymore then…”

“Then what? You’ll cease to exist? You’re so much more than…”

All of a sudden, Merlin looked furious. “Oh, and you would do so well without being the Prince of Camelot, wouldn’t you? How would you feel if someone just took that away from you?”

Arthur leaned back at the bed-head, pursing his lips. “Actually, that almost happened tonight. And now please, you tell me… if tonight had ended differently, if we were now all running for our lives, me living a life as an outcast… would you feel still the same way for me?” Arthur held up a forestalling hand. “No, seriously. What if you kept your magic and I would suddenly be your servant –and don’t think that couldn’t happen, I know quite a few realms were exactly this would be the case- what would you do then? I really want to know.”

“It’s not the same!”

“It is absolutely the same! Gods, Merlin, you taught me to see through titles, to look at the people beneath. And now you… I don’t understand you. You think I would shove you away because you have –maybe- lost something I’m still not sure how to handle in the first place? I…” Arthur hesitated for a second, then he took the leap. “I fell in love with you long before I had even an inkling about you being a sorcerer.”

***

In the ensuing silence, Arthur’s heartbeat seemed to be very loud. Merlin just sat there, eyes wide and dark, looking almost like he was back in a state of shock. Then, slowly, he started to shake his head. “No. No. You’re not.”

“I’m not what?”

“You’re not in… what you’ve just said. No. I can’t and… maybe it would be best if I… yes. I’ll leave. I will leave tonight… so you don’t have to… no. I knew from the beginning that… leaving you might…” Arthur wondered if Merlin even realized that -since he had begun to talk about leaving- his fingers were digging into Arthur’s right forearm, probably already drawing blood.

“Merlin.” Arthur laid his left hand on Merlin’s cheek, stroking softly with his thumb over the pronounced cheekbone. “You really want to leave me?”

Breathing completely erratic, Merlin stared at him. “I… no? I… Arthur, I don’t know why…”

“Hey. Come here for a moment?” Arthur closed his arms around the other man and hugged him tightly to his chest. “Shhhh… you’re trembling all over. Calm down… shhhhhhh.”

Merlin clutched at his back as if Arthur had been the one talking about leaving. “Arthur…”

Gods, he sounds so… desperate. What is going on? Arthur pressed his lips on Merlin’s temple; quietly, he said, “Whatever it is, Merlin, we will work it out, I promise you. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but I won’t let any harm come to you, love.”

And then… it happened again. Merlin, who just had calmed down somewhat, tried to get away suddenly, tried to almost violently shake off Arthur’s arms. “Don’t! Don’t… please!”

This time, Arthur refused to let him go. “What? Merlin, please, tell me what I did!”

“Don’t say… that!”

“Don’t say wh…” Arthur broke off. “What… you don’t want me to say that I love you? But… why?”

Merlin had given up on getting away from him; he just lay in Arthur’s arms, shaking all over. If Arthur’s head hadn’t been so close to the other man’s, he wouldn’t have heard Merlin’s answer. “Because it’s never true. Not for me. Never.” Merlin started to cry in earnest.

***

When the emotional storm was abating, both men were lying on the bed, Merlin almost hidden under Arthur’s wider body. The whole time, Arthur was either combing his fingers through Merlin’s sable hair, or stroking softly over his back, or just holding him as tightly as possible when Merlin didn’t seem to be able to stop with the shaking and sobbing. Arthur’s eyes were closed and he had long ago stopped trying to hush the man in his arms; it only seemed to upset Merlin further and anyway… there was nothing to say. Merlin hadn’t told him why he felt the way he was feeling, but Arthur was sure it would come out soon enough, if he was patient. He had learned his lesson about pushing with questions the night before. But still… although Arthur didn’t know Merlin’s story yet, the silent declaration resounded in his ears… and Arthur could relate. He had never really thought about it… it had never mattered to him, but try as he might, he couldn’t think of anyone who truly had loved him… beside Merlin. And that was why the others weren’t so important, as was his own state of mind. Arthur knew Merlin loved him… and he really wanted Merlin to believe that he was loved by him, too, as well. It would probably take some time, but Arthur swore to himself he would make him believe it… somehow, some day.

When Merlin began to speak, Arthur actually flinched with surprise.

“There was this girl, in Ealdor. Rose.” Merlin huffed. “She had red hair… I really liked her and…” Merlin broke off, stared at him and then he wriggled out from under Arthur’s body, sitting up. When Arthur tried to take his hand, he didn’t refuse, though.

The prince blushed. “What gave me away? The grinding of my teeth?”

“You can’t be serious?” Merlin’s expression changed from desolate to wondrous. “You’re jealous? I was fourteen!”

“And that matters why? She was obviously important to you, so…”

“She wasn’t all that important!” Merlin still looked at him like he was some rare animal that just crawled out of the woods. “She was just the first… well. One day she told me she was in love with me and on the next day, literally the next day, she ran away when she saw me. She was scared to death of me. For the first time… you have to know, the whole time I was a kid, I had the feeling something was off. But I only realized what it was with Rose.” Merlin paused, then glanced at Arthur again. “You’re really jealous?”

Fidgeting, Arthur searched for a way to change the topic, but then he noticed that Merlin didn’t seem to be exactly angry about him being jealous, quite the opposite in fact. “Yeah, I am,” he remarked with far more grudge in his voice than he really felt. “I mean I know you hadn’t fallen from the sky when you arrived here, but still… that doesn’t mean I’m delighted to hear about your love life before you met me.”

Merlin blinked down at him. “My love life? Are you for real? What love life?”

“Did you kiss her?”

“I… yes?”

“See?”

Obviously rendered speechless for now, Merlin stammered, “Uh…”

“Merlin, just because a stupid girl…” Wrong thing to say. Arthur could have slapped himself when he saw pain returning to Merlin’s eyes.

“No, it wasn’t because of her. She just showed me why everyone was behaving the way they did. Even my mother… she told me she loved me. But… she was always afraid, of the things I did, of me.”

“Merlin, don’t you think she was afraid for you? I’ve seen you with your mother… she loves you.”

“She sent me away.”

“Because she wanted to protect you, I guess.”

“She sent me to Camelot! Do you know the first thing I saw when I arrived here? Your father, calling out a feast while below him a sorcerer was beheaded! I have to admit, I was a bit surprised to find out that magic is forbidden here! Why didn’t she send me anywhere else, where magic is allowed?”

Now Arthur was searching for words. “Well… Merlin, come on! Your mother didn’t send you here so my father could kill you! She… she sent you to Gaius! She knew he would take good care of you! After all, he knows a lot about magic. I think.”

“Yes, Gaius. The next example.” There were suddenly tears in Merlin’s eyes, and Arthur squeezed the hand in his a bit tighter. “He’s afraid of me, too.”

“Merlin…”

“No. Arthur, I can always tell. I’m not saying he hadn’t been great to me in the last two years, he had been. But sometimes… I can see it in his eyes. Sometimes he looks at me as if I am a dangerous… well.” Merlin swallowed hard. “Won’t matter now anyway. Without magic, I don’t think he will care anymore.”

“Oh Merlin, for the sake of the Gods! What… do you think he will throw you out? Bloody Hell! I would have never thought I would actually have to defend Gaius, but believe me, that old man loves you like he would a son. I should know… he almost ripped my head off twice today! Sure, he made mistakes, but we all make them… and we all will continue to make them. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.” Arthur huffed. “Gods. I will get a… well, I guess I can call him father-in-law, who wants to castrate me.”

That statement startled Merlin into snorting, and when Arthur looked up at him, he saw Merlin’s expression was torn again; there was a bit amusement, still far too much pain… but Arthur was inwardly delighted to also see hope in Merlin’s eyes.

“Arthur, Gaius doesn’t want to castrate you!”

“You say that now. If he’s coming after me with an axe, I’ll hide behind you.”

Merlin smiled and then looked down at their still entwined hands. “You really mean that?” he asked quietly.

“That he loves you?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes. I am absolutely sure about that! And I know you’re having a hard time believing me, but I love you, too.” Arthur noticed happily that Merlin didn’t react badly to these words anymore, he just seemed to listen very hard. “I never loved anyone as much as I love you… aw, hell! Before you, I never loved anyone, period.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to believe you… I just…”

“I know. And it’s okay. Time will tell you… and if you allow it, I will tell you.”

“You’ve already said it quite a few times tonight.”

Arthur groaned. “Yeah… another thing I would have never thought I’d do. And that alone should tell you something!”

Merlin laughed. “Yes, I guess.” Now there was only a bit of pain left in his eyes, but lots of humor and lots of hope. “Arthur? Maybe you should take your bath now?”

“I stink, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“You mean I stink to high heaven… and you’re right, I do. Alright… I really want that bath. But… if it’s okay for you… I would like to take this damn thing off your leg, first.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped a bit, but then he suddenly straightened up again and nodded. “Yes, please. No matter what happens… I want it gone.”

***

While he got the key, Arthur bit his lower lip. He was very aware of the fact that none of Merlin’s issues had been solved, neither the one about him not believing he was loved, nor the one about him thinking Arthur wouldn’t want him anymore without him being a warlock. Arthur also knew that these two things were kind of mutually exclusive. When Merlin got his magic back, he would think Arthur afraid of him. If he didn’t… Arthur swallowed. He didn’t know anymore what to wish for. But one thing was for sure… as he had told Merlin, they would need time, lots of time.

“Arthur? What happened to the crystal and the whip?”

Key in hand, Arthur turned around. “You know about the whip?”

“Yeah. I was… there. Not my body but… I saw everything. Well, at least until Badyn died. I have no idea what happened with your father… though I could take a guess.”

Arthur sat down on the bed again, noticing that Merlin was sitting cross-legged now. “My father… let’s just say that neither you nor anyone else has to worry about my father… for some time. I’m sure he will regroup eventually… he’s too cunning to not try something again.”

“What do you have on him?”

“I’ll tell you later, okay? Come on, Merlin. Let’s just…”

“The whip? The crystal?” Merlin stared anxiously at Arthur, who sighed. “Is that so important? Alright, they’re… gone. Only ashes remained… oh, I see. The shackle’s still solid.”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” Merlin whispered.

“I don’t know. Badyn was able to use the whip and the crystal on several people… but I think Morgause made those chains solely for you. And you were still able to overcome them… maybe that’s why they’re black now.”

“Arthur… I don’t know how to explain it to you. I wasn’t exactly overcoming the chains… if not for you, I could have done nothing.”

“But you did. You did it, Merlin… I may have been your… motivation, but believe me, you did it all alone.”

“See? I can’t explain it. I don’t even know what spell –if it really was a spell at all- I used on your armor. I just know that when I tried it the first time, it didn’t work. We were fighting and…” Merlin broke off, making a helpless gesture.

“And then… what? You put your life on the line, somehow?”

Merlin smiled a bit sadly. “If you would have died, there wouldn’t have been anything left to live for.”

Arthur had his mouth already open when he realized that he would just start the argument all over again… and Merlin wouldn’t mind at all, as long as it kept Arthur away from using that key. So, he tried and practiced his newly found character trait and let it go.

“Well… we can talk about it later,” Arthur hissed out between clenched teeth. “Now… can you outstretch your leg?”

The other man didn’t move.

“Merlin… please. Nothing will…”

“Yeah, okay. Do it.”

Just as nervous now as Merlin, Arthur inserted the key. To his surprise, he could turn it easily… he had been sure the thing would get stuck or break off or something like that. The lock clicked open and Arthur, mindfully of the raw skin beneath, removed it carefully and threw it away as far as possible.

For a minute, nothing happened. Then Merlin gasped loudly… and his body arched upward, until only his head and heels were still on the bed. Arthur swallowed, throat suddenly dry. Gods, he is beautiful! His admiration got interrupted abruptly when the ground started to move. Just… it wasn’t only the ground, the whole castle shook… and it didn’t stop. Alarmed, Arthur remembered Henry’s tale. “Merlin! Stop it!” A loud crash behind him made him spin around and he saw the big old armoire in which Merlin had hidden the night before had fallen over. “Merlin!” Arthur turned back to the man on the bed only to see him sitting up now, staring at him out of golden eyes. “Cut it out, dammit!” Merlin didn’t seem to hear him, and the damn castle was still moving. Arthur could hear awful noises and the first screams for help from the courtyard. “MERLIN!”

Finally, the other man blinked a few times and actually looked at Arthur, eyes still gleaming; then he jumped up and ran over to the open window, the prince hot on his heels. Arthur clutched Merlin’s tunic in the moment the warlock leaned out of the window. But Merlin didn’t try to jump; he roared something, loud enough for Arthur to almost release the hold he had on him to cover his ears.

Then… before the prince’s stunned eyes, a gigantic dragon, made out of fire, appeared on the night sky over Camelot. Suddenly the castle restored its calm, the dragon vanished and Merlin sat down hard on the floor. Arthur was right behind him.

***

“Okay… that was different.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Nah. I just wonder how many people have seen this thing.”

Merlin, head still buried in his hands, whispered, “See? That’s what I’ve meant before. Everyone who knows… they’re all afraid of me. I don’t blame you…”

“Hey!” Arthur frowned. “I’m not afraid of you! I was scared you would jump out of the window… the rest was… well, impressive? Very impressive. Though I could do without the castle shaking, I like my chambers as they are.”

“You mean that?” Merlin asked, glancing up, and Arthur was happy to see perfectly normal blue eyes.

“Yes, of course! Merlin… you worry far too much, do you know that?”

The warlock seemed to study his face, obviously searching for something… and then he smiled. “You really don’t think me a…”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “A what? A twit?” When Merlin rolled his eyes, Arthur huffed. “Merlin, I’m not afraid of you. I may need some time to get used to magic, but when it’s coming from you, I’m not afraid of it either. But let me tell you something… if you do stuff like that regularly, you will have to get used to me yelling! What was that about anyway?”

“I don’t know… it came back so fast, I had to let it out.”

“That’s you letting it out?” Arthur licked his lips. “Okay… I already know my father will be delighted to make that announcement tomorrow. Because afterwards, I will have to explain this.”

“What announcement?”

“Ah… my father…” Arthur broke off when he suddenly got jumped. Merlin was trembling all over again, but this time clearly with barely suppressed joy. “It’s back, Arthur! My magic’s back!” Arthur started to laugh. Who the hell would have ever thought I’d be so happy about anyone telling me this? He tried to hug Merlin close, and ended up flat on his back on the stone floor with Merlin above him, kissing him. Arthur opened his lips and let Merlin take the lead while he frantically tried to tell his body to calm down. Apparently, the struggling with himself was noticed, because Merlin lifted his head a bit and smiled down at him. “Arthur, I’m not afraid of you, either.”

“Yeah… but there is not being afraid and there is… you know.”

“Yes.” Merlin lowered his eyes for a moment and then looked up again. “It will get better, though.”

“There is no rush at all.”

“Well, that’s your opinion,” Merlin remarked. Then he smiled again, and Arthur felt himself blush all over. No one ever had looked at him like Merlin did. “Uh… how about that bath?”

“You taking a bath is a good idea,” Merlin answered, smile getting broader. He didn’t move a muscle. Grinning himself now, Arthur tried to hoist both of them up and found out he just didn’t have it in him anymore. “I think you have to get off me first.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just… you got me all weak in the knees.”

“Really?” Merlin scrambled off him, then started to smirk. “Well, the ground did…”

“Don’t!”

“… move beneath us,” Merlin finished.

“I hate you.”

Epilogue

One week later

“Man, look at them. This is so unfair.”

Kay, lying on his back in the grass, glanced at the other knight and started to laugh, shaking his head.

“What is unfair, Percival? You’re mourning for Caelly or for Merlin?”

“Funny. You know, it’s something about being hurt. The women all get crazy about wounded men. Why is that?”

Kay sighed. Well, no one ever would ever accuse Percival of being too sensitive. “How should I know? Come on, you shouldn’t begrudge Gawain this love. It only means there will be lots and lots of heart broken maids to comfort.”

“That’s what I like about you, Kay. You always look on the bright side.”

Kay glanced away from Gawain and the smiling Lady Caelly to the other couple, Arthur and Merlin. He watched the two fighting playfully over a -Gods, was this a dress?- for some time, until Arthur laughed loudly about something the warlock was saying. His gaze wandered over to Bedivere for a moment; the dark-haired knight stood alone and was looking straight back at him. Kay lowered his eyes and smiled slightly.

“What can I say? I guess it’s my nature.”

The End.

Merlin Fic: Wild Justice 10/10 - Completed

silkmoth101 — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 12:55:29 GMT

Title: Wild Justice (10/10)
Summary: When Prince Arthur returns to Camelot after a horrible fight with raiders, he thinks he can find a little peace. He is wrong.
Warning/Spoiler: Slash, First Time, H/C, Angst, Protective!Arthur, Hurt!Merlin, Rape (non-explicit), Violence, Non-Con, ALC (Arthurian Legend Characters), OCs, Spoilers for Season One and Two
Rating: R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word Count for this part: 13.177
Word Count for whole story: 53.600
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.

Author’s notes: The entire story deals with the theme of violence, rape and taking care of someone who was raped. Please don’t read if any of this can trigger you.

Spoilers and thanks can be seen in part one, here.

Wild Justice 10/10

Arthur reined his horse in and waited for the others to catch up with him. They were already deep in the woods, it was pitch black all around and the only light came from their torches; as soon as they got close to the hunting hut, they would have to relinquish even this small comfort. Arthur was angry and worried at the same time. They hadn’t found Gawain yet, and Arthur seriously doubted the young knight would have come so far on his own. This could mean two things: Either Gawain got lost in the woods somewhere; this wouldn’t be good, but the other possibility was far worse. The wounded man could have lost consciousness and was lying somewhere in the dark, with no help coming. Arthur refused to think of the third option… Gawain somehow finding the way to the hut on his own.

The prince caught Kay’s eyes, who was riding a few meters left from him and was searching frantically right and left under every bush and tree; the blond knight immediately looked away. Arthur shut his mouth tightly; Kay looked guilty as hell anyway. Watching on, Arthur saw Bedivere coming out of a thicker grove, riding close to Kay. The two knights were exchanging a few words, then Kay rode on and Bedivere turned his horse around, leading it in Arthur’s direction. Again, the prince wondered what was going on between those two; he knew they had been friends almost from the moment Kay had joined them in Camelot, but something seemed to have changed between them lately… Arthur sighed inwardly; he was starting to see ghosts, probably due to his own changing relationship with Merlin.

“Still nothing, Arthur.”

“Yes, I know.” The prince looked at Bedivere for a moment. “Alright, I’ll give it a bit more time, but then… I’ll send Lamorak and Gaheris back to search for him, and we will ride on.”

“Arthur, we will probably need every…”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Arthur hissed. “But thanks to you and Kay I have no choice! Gawain is most certainly lying somewhere behind us, flat on his face. I just hope he hadn’t been thrown off his horse and is dead already, with a broken neck!”

“Arthur…”

“WHAT?”

Bedivere glanced at him, then shook his head. “Nothing, Sire. I will just… search on.”

“You do that.”

The minute Bedivere had vanished between the trees, Arthur let his head fall forward. Great. Antagonize everyone, why don’t you? But right now, he couldn’t help it. He was close, so close to finally losing it completely, and this time, Merlin wasn’t there to help him keep a clear head.

Urging his horse forward, Arthur slowly rode to the next grove while holding the torch above his head, his thoughts still with Merlin. He was feeling awful because he had to leave the other man alone. During the last minutes they had spent together, before Arthur had had to go, Merlin had looked… far too fragile, as if made out of glass. The prince had to fight the superstitious feeling that he would never see his manservant again. Something wasn’t right, Arthur knew it. First, he had been scared that Merlin would try and follow them, but this wasn’t possible; he was in an awful state and anyway, Gaius would sit on top of him if Merlin did something stupid. But now, Arthur feared there was something more sinister going on. When he thought back at the way Merlin had behaved this day… well, it was understandable that the warlock wasn’t his usual self. But… the prince already knew that Merlin had lied to him. The problem was that he was also sure that Merlin had continued to lie, even down in Gaius’ laboratory.

Arthur swallowed. Oh, he had believed Merlin saying he meant no evil and he wouldn’t harm Arthur… the question remained if Merlin would harm someone else, himself for example. Arthur prayed to the Gods that everything would go smoothly tonight, that his plan would work, hell, that his father and Badyn would actually be doing what Arthur thought they were doing. Because if something went wrong, then, no matter what Merlin had promised, Arthur doubted Henry would manage to get Merlin out of the castle, at least not alive.

When Arthur felt his horse almost rearing up, he noticed how tightly he had drawn the reins. While he leaned forward to pet its neck, Arthur suddenly saw another horse coming forward from behind a tree… Gawain’s black stallion. Relieved, he led his horse over to the other man, only to recoil inwardly when he saw the state the young knight was in. Pale, bent over in obvious pain, Gawain looked almost unable to keep sitting on his horse.

Enough was enough. Arthur grabbed the other’s reins. “Dammit, Gawain! You look awful! You will ride back to the castle immediately… Lamorak will accompany you. You should have stayed in bed and not…”

“Oh no, I won’t!” Gawain sat up in the saddle and then winced, which made Arthur cringe in sympathy.

“Gawain… please. Don’t let me make this an order.”

“Sorry, Sire. But tonight…” Gawain hissed, “… you can’t order me to do a thing! So don’t even try. Sire.”

And that was the final straw… Arthur lost it.

*~*~*~*~*

Kay was waving with his torch toward Bedivere when he heard the first yells, which made him promptly drop the torch. Swerving his horse around wildly, he pushed it forward and saw Bedivere doing the same across the clearing. Dammit! We should have stuck together! Scared to death, sword drawn, he raced toward Arthur’s voice which was so loud it almost seemed to crack.

Bedivere and he burst out of the underwood at the same time, and then it was all Kay could do to stay on the back of his mare as it banged into Arthur’s and Gawain’s stallions. The situation didn’t improve when the rest of them arrived; there were shying horses and swearing men everywhere, and even Arthur had to shut up to keep control of his own horse.

After a few moments, things calmed down again… the horses were still snorting, but at least they had stopped bucking. Kay, keeping a tight rein on his shivering horse, looked over to the prince; even in the flickering light of the torches he could see how furious Arthur was. Without surprise, Kay noticed that Gawain wasn’t even a bit intimidated; his expression was a perfect match to Arthur’s.

“Let the fun begin,” Kay murmured.

He saw Arthur opening his mouth but then, suddenly, the prince closed it again, let his head fall back on his neck and took a deep breath. Kay was astonished when Arthur dismounted and quietly asked Gawain to do the same.

The knight shook his head. “I told you, Arthur, I won’t go back!”

“I didn’t say… Gawain, I just want to talk to you for a moment, in peace.”

Kay cringed when Gawain started to dismount… it hurt to see how slowly the young man was moving. Arthur had been right… hell, Caelly had been right, Gawain was in no shape to be anywhere beside in a bed. Watching Prince and Knight going near a big oak to talk about whatever, Kay clenched his teeth again. If something should happen to Gawain tonight, it would be his fault, his fault alone.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

Kay turned so quickly toward Bedivere that his horse almost reared up again. “How the hell should I know?”

“Whoa, Kay! Great mood you’re in!”

“What? You’re in a good mood? May I ask why?”

Bedivere sighed. “I’m in a dreadful mood… but you still don’t see me spit at you.”

Still watching the two men under the tree –Gawain was gesturing somewhat wildly now- Kay answered, “Then don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Hey!” Kay felt a slap on his arm and looked over again to Bedivere, who was now dangerously close… and obviously livid. “Stop that shit with me! You could just answer that stupid question!”

“Bedivere, I don’t know! I know nothing! My mood would be far better if I knew anything! But I don’t! So let me be!”

“Gods!” With that, Bedivere led his horse over to Percival, which was a very good idea as far Kay was concerned. When he looked back at Arthur and Gawain, he saw both men already back at their horses. Arthur helped the young knight mount his black beast, then the prince turned around to look at the rest of the knights. Face strangely flushed, the prince stated, “Alright. Gawain found the hut, we’re not far away now. Let’s kill the lights and… try to be more quiet. Come on.”

Gawain found the hut? Kay thought, aghast. Of course, he just couldn’t have stayed where he said he would stay. He rode forward slowly, and before the last torch went out, Kay saw Gawain’s face clearly for a minute. He wondered why the man looked so immensely relieved.

*~*~*~*~*

“Silent, now,” Arthur whispered.

They all had been lucky; no one inside the hut seemed to have heard them yet. And considering the uproar that happened not all so far away, that was nothing short of a miracle.

Arthur watched the tiny wooden hut and its surroundings closely; he could see four horses bound to a tree, and through one of the tiny windows shone a flickering light, probably from candles and a few more torches. As soon as he was absolutely sure that none of Badyn’s knights were standing guard, he turned around to Kay, shaking his head. “They’re very sure of themselves, apparently.”

“So much the better.”

“Yeah.” For a moment, Arthur looked at the knights gathered around him, with Gawain standing a bit further behind, then he took a deep breath. “Alright, we will draw them out. If Badyn has a bit of a brain inside his head, he will send out his knights first. Kay, Bedivere… take them out as quickly as possible. I don’t want his minions running around and getting underfoot.”

“I don’t need Bedivere,” Kay grunted, brandishing his sword.

Arthur sighed. “Oh, I know. But please, Sir Kay… do me the favor?”

Kay looked at him and Arthur could see an awful grin on his face; Kay was obviously just as bloodthirsty as Arthur himself. “If you insist.”

“I do. Hey!” Arthur grabbed Kay’s arm when the blond knight tried to storm forward. “Not yet,” the prince hissed. “Can we maybe first talk about what we’ll do when Badyn and my father appear on the threshold?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Never mind.” Arthur turned around fully to face the rest of his knights. “Okay, guys, this will happen very quickly. We’ll go all over there… as already mentioned; Bedivere and Kay will take care of the bastard’s men. Badyn… Badyn is mine.” He saw Gawain opening his mouth and shook his head. “You’ll get your pound of flesh, Gawain, I promise you. But right now, you will stay back; you’re in no shape to fight with anyone, understood?” Gawain nodded, clearly unhappy. Arthur looked back at the others. “You will all stay away from Badyn, don’t forget he has the means to work magic. Look out for each other. If one of you sees another one acting strangely, knock them out.” After all of them agreed, he continued. “Percival. I want you to lead the rest to go after my father. The moment you get a glimpse of him, I want you to push him back into the cabin. He and Badyn have to get separated as quickly as possible. I know this will be difficult for a few of you. Not only will he try to fight you with all his might, he will also order you around. I am very sure he is under a spell and therefore not fit to actually give orders… but… I could be wrong. I think I’m able to get us all out of this without the King being able to do a thing against anyone of you… but again, nothing is sure. So please, if anyone of you has a problem with subdueing my father, tell me now. I will understand.”

No one said a word. The silence lasted for a while, then Arthur heard Kay tapping impatiently on the hilt of his sword. The prince smiled. “Alright… that’s it. Let’s go… and please, I want all of you to survive this night.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Kay, dammit! Quit playing around!”

Kay felt the grin on his face becoming even broader when he heard Bedivere’s yell. The last minutes had been fun, finally at last some fun. And it was Bedivere’s own fault his fun was already over; Arthur may have told them to take the bastard’s knights out quickly, but there was quickly and there was too fast. Though he had to admit… it had been –again- fun to see the look on Badyn’s face when the first of the knights he had sent out came immediately flying back toward him… missing his head. It was one of Bedivere’s more admirable talents… his sword arm was so strong he could behead a man with one stroke. But as impressive as it was, it wasn’t really Kay’s preferred fighting style.

He easily averted the next blow coming from the frightened man before him; the knight, whatever his name was, wasn’t exactly fighting anymore. It seemed he wanted to find a way to escape, just like the rat he was. Kay swung his sword again, carefully to not hurt the other man’s sword arm. Fun would be over the moment the guy had no means to defend himself anymore. Instead of the arm, Kay’s sword sliced upward through the pants, clearly going for the groin area. His opponent squealed like a pig, almost loud enough to drown out the uproar somewhere behind Kay; there was a very unhappy king screaming at Percival and Arthur. As far as Kay could tell, Badyn hadn’t come out of the hut yet… he was actually hiding behind Uther.

“KAY! We could use some help here!”

Ah well. Fun’s over. With one smooth motion, Kay shoved the other’s sword away and then slit his throat, not too deeply though. The bastard should have some time thinking about his life while he slowly bled to death. Turning away from the dying man on the ground, Kay made two steps toward the others, then froze. Galahad and Lamorak were both on the ground, too, motionless. “What the hell?” Kay yelled loudly enough for Bedivere to hear him, while he watched, a bit stunned, the way Uther was fighting Percival, Gaheris and Arthur at the same time; it actually looked like he was winning. When Uther turned slightly to block Percival, Kay got a look at his face… Uther’s eyes were red as blood. Well, at least now it was sure the King was under a spell, the Gods be damned.

“We had to knock them out,” Bedivere yelled back. “This bastard in there has another magic thing… looks like a whip or something! The moment it touched them…” Bedivere was interrupted when Percival staggered back right into his arms, almost going down. The knight had a ghastly gash right across his forehead, obviously made by Uther’s dagger.

Before Kay could move, he saw Arthur rushing toward his father. As so often, he was for a moment breathless by the sheer beauty of the prince when Arthur really started to fight. He knew that Bedivere and he were good knights, maybe the best in Camelot. But they were nothing compared to Arthur, nothing. The prince had thrown his sword to the side, and literally ripped Uther backward, away from the hopelessly inferior Gaheris, and managed to wrestle the King to the ground. In the next moment, both Bedivere and Arthur were sitting on top of Uther’s back, holding him down.

And then, by chance, Kay saw out of the corner of his eyes something moving toward the men on the ground, coming out of the hut and looking like an extremely thin red snake. Without thinking, Kay jumped forward, sword raised, ready to protect Arthur’s and Bedivere’s backs. When his sword touched the thing, it was immediately drawn back inside the hut… and although Kay was really afraid of anything that had to do with magic, he nevertheless had to prevent a new attack on the others, who were still trying to get a good grip on the King, sadly in front of the open door.

***

When Kay entered the hut, he was almost blinded by the torches; he had gotten too used to the moonlight outside. Instinctively, he let himself fall to his knees for a moment, and that move probably saved him from whatever had happened to Lamorak and Galahad; Kay felt something hot and cold at the same time whipping through the air, only a hand’s breadth above his head. Rolling forward and blinking away the tears, Kay managed to get under the table before that thing came back for him. From there, he got his first good look at Badyn, at his legs, at least. The bastard drew back his toy, and Kay noticed that Bedivere had been right; it looked indeed like a whip, but it also seemed to be alive. It snaked around Badyn’s calves for a moment… and then it leapt forward, as if it could see where Kay was hiding. The knight backed off rapidly, banging his head hard against a wooden chair but still getting out from under the table without the thing touching him.

When the blood-red whip came back again at him, Kay was ready for it. Swinging his sword in a counter movement, he saw the thing wrapping itself around it. For a second, Kay looked straight at Badyn –and wow, the prince looked… awful, drained… he had lost his good looks completely- then Kay jerked his sword back, ripping the magical whip right out of Badyn’s hand. He then had to suppress an outcry of pain; the hilt of his sword had become suddenly red-hot and even through his heavy gauntlet he could feel the palm of his hand blistering. Kay threw the sword in the corner behind him and turned around again to face Badyn, only to see the other man going for his sword.

“Oh no, you won’t!”

Before Badyn could even completely draw his sword, Kay was over him, grabbing the blond curls on the back of the bastard’s head with one hand, his wrists with the other and then he smashed said head onto the table. Satisfied, Kay heard the crunching sound of a nose breaking; he lifted the other’s head again.

“Enough?” Although blood was streaming down over his face, the prince still struggled against Kay, trying to get away. “Good! I don’t mind!” Bang. Badyn’s face met the table top again.

“Kay! Don’t kill him!”

“I won’t, Arthur. I’ll just wake him up a bit.” Kay looked down at the still struggling prince, and then his glance fell on the parchments strewn all over the table. On the right, beside Badyn’s bleeding nose, he suddenly glimpsed his own name on one of them. Leaning forward a bit to get a better look, he pressed, purely by accident, the prince’s face a bit more strongly onto the table, which drew a definite groan of despair from the other man. “Now, now,” Kay said absently, reading the parchment quickly. Wow, he thought. Arthur had been wrong. The bastard doesn’t want to send us away…he wants to… All of a sudden, Kay remembered the quiet talk Arthur had with Gawain before, and the way Gawain had looked both exhausted and relieved at the same time afterwards. Alright, maybe Arthur knew what he was doing, after all.

“Arthur? How are things with your father?”

“We’re tying him up now. Everything alright in there?”

“Things are great. There are interesting scripts in here, Arthur. It seems like your father is planning to make quite a few announcements tomorrow.”

“I just bet he does.” Arthur continued speaking, but his voice was drowned out by Uther’s roaring. A minute later, Bedivere appeared on the threshold, looking concerned.

“You’re okay?”

“Please. Of course I am,” Kay answered. “Watch out. That whip-thing is lying in the corner right behind you, and it still looks alive.”

Bedivere turned about, and then backed off slowly, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

Kay huffed just because, but inwardly he thought, We’re all weirded out by magic. But I would make a bet that we have to get used to it soon.

“What the hell…?” Looking up, Kay saw the other knight staring down at the parchments.

“Yeah, great, aren’t they? One of them has my name on it.”

“This one’s about Arthur.”

“Won’t be the only one.”

Bedivere looked quickly through the papers. “I don’t see one with my name.”

“Maybe you’re not that important?”

“Funny. No… here it is!”

“Now you don’t have to feel left out. By the way, could you come over here and help me with the bastard?”

“No one has to help you with him,” Arthur said, standing in the door. “Get him out here.”

“With pleasure.” Kay drew Badyn up and dragged him around the table. There he shoved him forward a bit, only to kick him right in the arse, sending him flying out of the door into the dirt before Arthur’s boots.

“Kay, please come out here with torches. You, too, Bedivere, after you’ve gathered those parchments. Keep them close for now.”

Percival and Gaheris carried a clearly infuriated king into the hut. Kay lit some torches and watched with awe the expression on Arthur’s face, while the two princes stared at each other. Only Arthur didn’t look like a prince anymore… he looked like a king.

*~*~*~*~*

The torches that had been stuck into the ground cast an eerie light over the small clearing beside the hut. Arthur surrounded the other prince slowly, holding his sword in both hands. He wondered if it was the flickering light, the damage Kay had done to Badyn’s face or something else, but the other man looked… actually not like a man anymore, more like a rabid animal. Badyn’s eyes, while not red like Uther’s, were unnaturally wide and dark, there was spittle on his lips and he was constantly murmuring something in a language Arthur didn’t understand. He also seemed to be darker than the night itself, as if even the firelight didn’t want to touch him.

Arthur wasn’t sure –and Merlin wasn’t there to ask - but he had the feeling that it wasn’t healthy for any person to use magic without actually having magic. But no matter how ill and crazy Badyn looked, Arthur knew he still was extremely dangerous. Watching the other prince, he tried to get a feeling for his opponent’s fighting skills. Badyn changed his sword hand constantly, and although Arthur was aware of the missing fingers on Badyn’s left hand, he couldn’t be sure which hand Badyn preferred.

All of a sudden, Badyn stood still. He cocked his head to one side jerkily –a movement that had all the fine hairs on Arthur’s body stand up on end- and smiled, the most goddamn awful smile Arthur had ever seen. “You sure you want to die because of that little whore?” Arthur heard Kay hissing something from the left; he himself didn’t react. Outwardly. On the inside, the blazing fury he had felt since he had found Merlin in the armoire the night before, flared up again. He knew of course what it was the other man wanted, but Arthur was far too experienced -and this fight was far too important- to lose his head and attack the other without thinking. “You’ve got nothing to say, Prince of Camelot?” Badyn sneered. “You know, I told your father everything about your little manservant. About who he really is… about what he is.” Badyn was now talking loudly enough so everyone, probably even Percival and Gaheris inside the hut, could easily overhear him. “About the fact that he has had you under a spell for months now.” Right on cue, Uther started to roar profanities again, only slightly muted by the wooden walls of the hut; Arthur really wished Percival would gag his father.

Laughing quietly, Arthur answered, “You’re one to talk about others being put under spells. Tell me… who is it I’m talking to now? Badyn, Prince of Aesctir? Or maybe Morgause, Bitch of Hell?” As he had guessed and hoped for, Badyn snapped immediately. Teeth bared and looking like a rabid dog more than ever, the other prince brought the fight to Arthur. Blocking this first attack easily, Arthur soon noticed that Badyn was very right-handed after all. As Kay said before, Arthur thought. So much the better.

The clanging of their swords was the only thing to be heard in the still night. Arthur calmed down more and more… this was what he had been waiting for, and this was what he was good at. There was no doubt who was the better swordsman but Arthur didn’t want the fight to end too fast; he enjoyed every cut and gash that appeared on the parts of Badyn’s body that were not protected by armor.

Nothing serious so far, but the constant blood loss had the other man wheezing already. Badyn himself hadn’t landed any blow on Arthur yet… and still, Arthur had to concentrate totally on the fight. Badyn might be weakened but he was quick, almost as quick as Arthur himself, and he didn’t only want to wound Arthur, he wanted to kill him as fast as possible.

Finally, Badyn left his left side wide open, stunned by a powerful strike of Arthur’s sword, and Arthur immediately chased after him, trying to fell him… but again Badyn got away, out of Arthur’s range, almost falling over his own feet while backing off. Arthur could smell the fear coming from the other man… and then he saw Badyn’s left hand leaving the hilt of his sword.

Just as he had known, and as Merlin had warned him, all of a sudden the other prince, fast as lightning, got a blue shimmering stone out of one of his pockets. Before he could even raise the hand, let alone say anything, Arthur rushed forward and then his sword came down. Badyn’s left hand, with three fingers and the crystal in it, fell to the ground. Out of the remaining limb shot a bloodstream, hitting Arthur in the face.

Arthur stumbled back for a minute, swiping the blood away. The next moment, he was on Badyn again, shoving him back until he went down. By now, the other man was screaming… out of pain or shock, Arthur didn’t know nor care. With the heel of his boot he buried the crystal deeply into the soft forest earth. Then Arthur kicked hard into Badyn’s waist and made the man turn around. As soon as Badyn was lying on his stomach, Arthur set his right boot heavily between the other prince’s shoulder blades.

“I need another rope! Kay!”

The moment Kay brought it, Arthur bend down and stanched the wounded arm rapidly. Another kick sent Badyn on his back again; Arthur straightened up slowly.

“If you think you will die quickly, you can think again. Stand up, Prince Badyn, and show me you can do more than torture people you have to tie up. Come on, I’ve been waiting for this, don’t disappoint me now!”

Badyn stared up at him out of completely black eyes. Arthur could only imagine how he must look to the other man, drenched in blood which no doubt could be seen, even in the light of the torches. Shaking his head desperately, Badyn let go of the sword in his right hand, clearly showing surrender. Arthur smiled, brandishing his sword slowly.

“You think I will spare you, because you writhe on the ground like the worm you are? You will die tonight, Badyn. How, that’s your decision. You can stand up and at least try to fight like a man… or you stay where you are.”

Badyn shook his head again and tried to scramble away from him. Arthur swung his sword. “I thought as much. Now it’s my time to decide… where should I start? Here?” Arthur’s sword slit through Badyn’s pants and the skin beneath, leaving another bleeding cut behind. “Or there? Or… your face?”

“Leave something for me, Arthur,” a hoarse voice behind him said. Arthur turned around to Gawain, and had already his mouth opened to invite the knight, when he saw Gawain’s eyes widen.

“WATCH OUT, ARTHUR!”

Spinning around, Arthur saw at once it was already too late. Badyn’s sword was coming at him from below, pointed straight at his heart, with such swiftness and force, Arthur couldn’t dodge it. It was a killing blow.

Time seemed to slow down. Stupid. How could I’ve been so stupid? Ah, Merlin… I’m so sorry… Arthur saw Kay staring at him, horror in his eyes; he saw Badyn’s face, gleaming in triumph. Then the other man’s sword hit his chain mail.

***

Arthur felt nothing; he knew it wasn’t unusual; the worst wounds didn’t hurt right away. Still trapped in that weird slow moving way, he started to look down, expecting to see the sword buried in his chest. Before he could finish lowering his head, time took up speed again; in fact, it seemed to move now far more quickly than before. There was a blinding golden flash… and then Badyn was screaming in agony. His sword flew through the air, shining red like it was melting, and landed somewhere far away in the grass, sizzling loudly. Badyn was also thrown back several feet, still wailing. And Arthur’s chest, no, his chain mail, his whole armor, was glinting as if made out of pure gold.

Arthur blinked a few times, not entirely sure if he was waiting for the light to fade away or for himself to drop down dead. The gold molten over his armor did indeed vanish slowly while Arthur watched on… but with that came a sudden image of Merlin, smiling sadly at him. So instead of being glad to still be alive, Arthur felt an icy fist of dread clutching his heart. What have you done? And what has it cost you?

“Arthur?”

The prince spun around, coming face to face with a startled Bedivere. “What?”

“Uh… maybe you should… I mean…” Bedivere’s voice trailed off and he pointed to the right, toward Badyn. When Arthur looked in that direction, he noticed for the first time the unearthly sounds still coming from the defeated prince. While whatever magic Merlin had worked on Arthur’s armor had worn off, there were still lots of… things going on with Badyn. He writhed and arched on the ground, trying to shake off something Arthur couldn’t see, groaning and moaning full of pain, obviously not able to scream anymore. And while Arthur didn’t feel even a bit of sympathy, it was still… gruesome.

Kay strolled over to Badyn, apparently to get a better look, although Arthur saw the blond knight staying way out of reach for anything that might jump at someone who got too close. “I’d say, let him be for awhile. He looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

“Gods, Kay, come away from… that!” Bedivere shouted.

“Mother Hen.”

Arthur shook his head. “I’ll finish this now.” Before he could make one step, Gawain grabbed his arm.

“Let me?”

Nodding, Arthur answered, “What do you say… we do it together?”

“Yes.”

***

“Maybe we should wait until… it calms down a bit more.”

“Arthur, I really don’t think that anything that’s attacking this bastard will hurt one of us.”

Arthur stared at Badyn’s still bucking body. It was an absolute eerie sight, maybe because he couldn’t see what was tormenting the other prince… and Arthur was sure that nothing either he or any other person could do to Badyn would come even close to whatever Merlin’s magic did to him.

When Gawain beside him drew his sword and went forward, Arthur followed slowly. He carefully watched the young knight… and the lack of any expression on Gawain’s face was just as creepy as the writhing body at their feet. It certainly made what happened next so shocking that Arthur backed off rapidly for a moment. Without losing that non-expression, Gawain raised his sword and rammed it through Badyn’s groin, effectively pinning his body to the ground. Even Kay, standing somewhere behind Arthur, had obviously seen enough… Arthur could hear him retreating quickly. While he watched Gawain staring down at Badyn, Arthur bit his lips hard enough to taste blood… as it turned out, Badyn could still scream after all. The Prince of Aesctir sat up and tried to pull the sword out, with one hand and the stump on the left side; he only managed to slice open his remaining hand, Gawain had his sword buried far too deeply.

Arthur ripped his gaze away from the bloody carnage at his feet and looked at Gawain again… he waited for a sign from him to end this for once and all. Finally, Gawain seemed to have worked through whatever he needed to… he looked up at Arthur calmly, and nodded. “Go ahead, Sire.”

Arthur swung his sword a final time, then Badyn’s head rolled away on the ground. Surprisingly enough, Arthur felt nothing. He hunkered down and got the necklace with the key on it, and stuck it into a pocket beneath his chain mail. From the hut and from the ground where he had buried the crystal, came sizzling sounds… and then Arthur heard the dazed voice of Lamorak. “What’s going on?”

Taking a deep breath, Arthur grabbed Badyn’s head and stood up; sadly, this night wasn’t over yet. “Bedivere, go over and untie Lamorak and Galahad, and then we’ll all meet inside the hut. Kay… gather the bodies of those bastards, get them on their horses.”

While Arthur was carrying the bloody mess in his hands to his horse, stuffing it in one of the linen bags, he heard Kay yelling behind him. “Dammit, Bedivere! Where the hell is that guy’s head you’d chopped off? It rolled somewhere and now I can’t find it!”

Part B.

Omg.

silkmoth101 — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 01:55:17 GMT

I think I'm in love with this vid:

Feedback here: http://nel-ani.livejournal.com/424174.html

Merlin Fic: Time Is Eternity

silkmoth101 — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 18:07:54 GMT

Title: Time Is Eternity
Summary: When the King had left, Merlin waited for a few tense minutes –it wouldn’t be unusual for Arthur to return in a sudden fit of temper- then he thought the door locked. The moment he heard the clicking sound, Merlin deflated, sinking down to the floor and burying his face in his hands.
Warning/Spoiler: Slash, Angst, First Time, Romance, Future!Fic (with a twist), King!Arthur, Powerful!Merlin, Spoilers for Season One and Two
Rating: Mild, very mild R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, Lancelot/Gwen, Past Arthur/Gwen (uh, if you really like Gwen, you may want to skip this one)
Word Count: 7.104
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.

HUGE thanks as always to my lovely beta keli . I can't tell you how much you and your never-ending encouragement mean to me. Hm. Maybe in a few years, I'll find the right words. *smooches*

Time Is Eternity

Merlin was trying to read one of Gaius’ old books – no matter how many years had passed, he still wasn’t fond of spells he had to learn - when the door to his chambers crashed open. Before he could look up, the door closed just as loud again and the King was already halfway into the room. Arthur looked devastated. “Merlin…”

The Royal Warlock stood up slowly. He didn’t have to ask what had happened, he already knew. It had been only a matter of time anyway. “My Lord. You’re back early.”

The King tried to smile but managed only some ugly grimace. “You’re not the only one surprised by my return.” When Merlin didn’t answer, he continued. “You know what I just found out? I… Guinevere and… Lancelot. I…”

Merlin steeled himself against the anguish he could hear in Arthur’s voice. “Indeed. What do you want me do, my Lord? Shall I… remove Lancelot from Camelot, from Albion?”

“No!” Arthur stared at him, looking suddenly incredibly young again. “Merlin… Please, I came here because… I want to talk to a friend.”

The warlock tried, but for the life of him he couldn’t stop the bitter laugh escaping. “Friend? You call me your friend? Since when, my Lord? If I recall correctly, you’re usually calling me a ‘means to an end’. Lancelot is your friend… or had been your friend, I guess. Don’t trouble yourself; I’m sure you will find someone else to replace him very soon.” He could see the impact his words had on Arthur, but the other man still looked… too much like the young prince he once had been; Merlin wanted him gone, he didn’t want to remember the time where he himself had been young enough to have something like hope for the unattainable.

“Merlin…” Voice hoarse, full of betrayal, the King backed off a step.

He can’t see it, Merlin thought. He had never been able to. He had never understood what he had done to me. Straightening up to his full height and letting his magic bleed out of him enough to scare off even a king, Merlin asked again, “What is it you want? Both of them gone? I can whisk them away, right now, by a thought. Just give the order.”

For some reason, that did it. The prince was gone, what remained was the face of the Once and Future King, eyes hard as always, mouth grim.

Merlin smiled.

“No. I won’t trouble you further, Emrys. Good night.”

When the King had left, Merlin waited for a few tense minutes –it wouldn’t be unusual for Arthur to return in a sudden fit of temper- then he thought the door locked. The moment he heard the clicking sound, Merlin deflated, sinking down to the floor and burying his face in his hands.

***

An hour later, the warlock was lying on his bed, staring up at the canopy but not seeing a thing. All around him he could hear voices whispering; voices of people long dead. A bit more far away, he heard Morgana’s laughter, and even further, beyond a veil, Nimueh’s. He turned his head to the side, as if to escape, until finally, as always, the other voices were drowned out by the one he had been waiting for.

Merlin…

“Mother.”

Merlin, why?

He shook his head in silence.

Can’t you forgive? After all these years, can’t you forgive him?

“It’s not so easy, Mother.”

It is. Why do you still lay all the blame on him?

“He IS to blame.”

And you are not? How often had he reached out for you?

“He had never apologized.”

A sigh. No, but you have never expected him to. He had never said the words, and you have all this time refused to see that he had apologized, in ways you were once able to recognize.

“Still…”

Are you happy, Merlin? Are you the one you wanted to be?

Merlin closed his eyes tightly. “No. No. But even I can’t turn back the time, Mother.”

Maybe. But there is still time.

“You don’t understand. I am not…” Merlin swallowed the rest. “And he isn’t the man he once was, either.”

And yet he is. You have just seen him. And so are you.

“Mother… you don’t understand,” he repeated weakly.

Maybe. But you don’t want to understand.

“But… what can I do?”

Silence.

“Mother? Mother!”

She was gone. Merlin turned around and buried his face in the pillows; then he gave up and started to cry.

***

It was in the midst of the night when Merlin left his chambers. Dressed in black from head to toe, he knew he was barely visible to the guards who stood in the dim halls, but they still bowed down to him. No, he had truly not become the man he once wanted to be… he had never wished to become someone who had to be feared, the tool of a just as fearsome King. But… maybe his mother had been right. Maybe there was still time.

Merlin took the flight of stairs that would carry him up to the royal chambers; he had a good idea where to find the King. When he passed the King’s chambers, the door opened and Lancelot appeared, only to withdraw hastily after seeing the warlock. Merlin ignored him completely, as he always did. Lancelot, Gwen, Gawain… all of them he had once called his friends. And now even Gawain, the friendly, always laughing Gawain, who had stood by him for the longest time, averted his eyes when the Royal Warlock entered the room; all of them did all they could to avoid his evil eyes.

Finally reaching his destination, Merlin slowly opened the door to the chambers which once were owned by the Crown Prince. With bated breath, he looked around, fighting off the storm of memories these rooms still brought to him. Arthur wasn’t there. Disappointed, Merlin looked around once more; the room had changed, of course. For years now, it was waiting for the next prince, for a child that never had been and never would be. When his glance fell on the cradle, Merlin turned and left quickly.

Out again in the dark hallway, he hesitated. Maybe he should let it go after all. Maybe this was his destiny, maybe Camelot and Albion wasn’t the bright place he had dreamt of, many years ago. He had often been deceived by the Sight… Again, he turned around and ran downstairs this time, as if he could really flee from his memories. Trying to keep his thoughts on the here and now, he reconsidered Arthur’s whereabouts… and noticed suddenly that he hadn’t the slightest idea where to look for him.

Merlin wandered to one of the windows that overlooked the gardens and stared out into the night. There was one other possibility to look for Arthur… if it was still working. And if he wasn’t too afraid of trying.

About –Gods- fifteen years ago, there had been a bond forming between warlock and prince; well, maybe it had been one-sided. Since it had happened very shortly before Uther died, he had never talked with Arthur about it, because it had also been the beginning of their estrangement. Still, this bond had been useful for a younger Merlin to watch out for Arthur.

But he hadn’t done this for longer than he could remember, and suddenly he was scared to search for it and found it gone. Because then… there would be indeed no hope anymore; it would be too late.

Taking a breath, Merlin closed his eyes and reached deeply. For a moment, he found only darkness… close to panic, he let himself fall even deeper. And then, coming with an image of a young laughing blond prince, there was a tiny flicker in the dark. Far too fragile, but still there. Carefully, Merlin took hold of it and reached again. In the next second, Merlin’s eyes snapped open… he had seen where the King was right now, but…

Spinning around, he was off again, running downstairs and further downstairs, barely believing what he had seen.

***

Merlin only slowed down when he could see the door to Gaius’ old room. This part of the castle was barren, no one had wanted to live around here, let alone in the physician’s chambers, after what had happened here.

This time, Merlin had to make himself open the door… Arthur’s old chambers were bad enough, but this? This was far, far worse. Gritting his teeth, he entered, bracing himself. At times like this, he cursed his heightened senses… he could not only remember, he still saw things… Merlin shook himself like a dog would, and silently went through the pitch black, abandoned laboratory, keeping his eyes on the thin line of flickering light coming out from under the door to his old room. When he stood in front of the door, he hesitated again. Did he really want to… do, try that? As horrible his life and their goddamned destiny had turned out to be, it was still something he was used to. And, if things went wrong here… his life could become darker as it already was.

Do I really believe that? Is there even a possibility to make things worse? What can happen? He could kill me… and that would be actually a relief.

Breathing deeply and closing his eyes, Merlin laid one hand on the wooden door. He could feel Arthur on the other side, he could even sense the pain the other man was in. This was so not good. All of a sudden, he felt like the clumsy, eighteen years old boy again who hadn’t known how to deal with all his confusing emotions. Merlin suppressed a laugh. Whom was he kidding? He had never learned to deal with them, he had learned to ignore them. He opened his eyes again and took a last look at the door in front of him. This was madness. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care anymore. Merlin opened the door and went in.

***

Arthur sat on the old bed and looked straight at him. Merlin had never seen such a tired expression on that face… no, it was more than tired, Arthur’s eyes were empty.

“Finally,” the King said. “Finally you’re here. Do it. Finish it.”

Sighing, Merlin took off his cape and threw it on one of the two chairs and took a seat on the other one. He was very sure he had chosen the worst night possible for a talk with this man. “My Lo…”

“Stop! If you can’t bring yourself to call me by my name, then just… don’t call me anything. I’m not your lord, I never was,” Arthur paused for a minute. “Or maybe I was once… but then you never called me ‘my Lord’.”

When Merlin didn’t answer, a strange smile appeared on Arthur’s face. “As I said, Merlin… do it. You’d never let me wait before… Time’s short.”

“What do you want?” Merlin asked, feeling tired to the bone. It had been a mistake, coming here tonight.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed; then he jumped up, grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and lifted him out of the chair. Something dangerous and hot coiled deep down in Merlin’s belly; it had been far too long since anyone had touched him, even casually. He dimly wondered if he was so starved for it that he would even welcome being slapped.

Arthur’s face only a hand’s breadth away from his, he heard the other man whisper, “Kill me.”

In the next second, the King was lying on the bed, thrown there by a blink of Merlin’s eyes. Furious and at the same time so disappointed that he wondered if he even could stay in this godsforsaken land, the warlock turned to leave… and paused when he heard mirthless laughter coming from the man on the bed.

“No,” Arthur stated. “No, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Far too quickly for someone like me.”

Merlin turned around, fully intending to yell at the bastard. But when he saw Arthur, he couldn’t… he couldn’t help it. He started to laugh, his first real laughter in only the Gods knew how many years. Arthur looked so… tragic and dramatic… and now all of a sudden so insulted… it was too much. Completely hysterical now, Merlin barely made it back to the chair and then doubled over, screeching with laughter, tears streaming down his face.

While Arthur, startling red in the face, watched him with his fists balled on either side of his thighs, Merlin tried to not look too long at the Almighty King, because then he would never be able to stop laughing… and Arthur would surely kill him in no time; suddenly, Merlin wanted to stay alive, very much so.

When he had managed to bring himself at least slightly under control, he glanced up at the blond man who looked as if he would burst a vessel any second. “Ah Arthur,” Merlin was spluttering insanely, but still noticing keenly how badly the King startled at the mentioning of his name, “Do you even know how you sound? Do you ever stop and listen to yourself? You sound like such a pompous ass!”

“WHO DO YOU THINK…?” Arthur broke off when both Merlin and the chair he was sitting on gave up the ghost. The chair collapsed with a loud crash but the warlock continued to hover in the air, a bit lopsided, again screaming with laughter. Merlin was aware that he was driving Arthur crazy, but he couldn’t stop, neither did he want to. This was the healthiest thing he had done in years.

“Merlin… God!”

“No, no,” Merlin whimpered. “Not God. Gods!” Groaning, he tried to get a grip on himself, he was getting a stitch.

“Have you gone mad?”

“Absolutely possible,” the warlock answered and lowered himself to the ground, wiping away tears. When he was able to look up again at Arthur, the laughter faded away slowly. Because there he was again, the man he had thought lost. Mother was right, he is still here. Maybe buried under responsibility, shame, pain and of course, guilt –it had always been about guilt for Arthur, hadn’t it?- but he is still here.

Arthur stared down at him, totally confused, and not looking one year older than twenty. “Please stop,” he said hoarsely.

“Arthur… can’t you understand? I’m not laughing at you… well, all right, maybe I was laughing at you, but mostly I’m laughing at us! Look around!” Merlin pointed to the walls. “Look where we finally ended up. Don’t you think that’s hilarious?”

“No.”

“Aw, come on, Arthur!”

“It was exactly here where…”

“Yes!” Merlin interrupted him, becoming serious. “It was exactly here where everything went to hell. You came by, told me your father killed my mother, then Uther stormed in, killed Gaius, tried to kill me, I killed him and thereby made you King.”

***

“I still can see your face… I’m still dreaming about how you looked,” Arthur said silently. “I know… I’ve always known, it had been my fault. Everything that had happened that day… all my fault.”

And isn’t it the strangest thing, Merlin mused. For almost fifteen years, I’ve thought the same. And now, when he’s saying it, it sounds like such nonsense, I can barely believe I ever thought it true.

The warlock, who was now sitting on the bed beside the King, felt light like a feather. He had told his mother that he wasn’t able to turn back the time, but it certainly felt like he had done exactly that. This was maybe really the perfect place and the perfect time to have this conversation. Yes, the memories were close, horrible memories… but so were other emotions… and the feeling of being young again. Only a few hours ago, he would had given everything to crush the other man and now… Merlin looked at Arthur again, then he closed his eyes, a bit ruefully. As if I ever really had wanted to destroy him. Punish him, yes. And sadly, I’ve made a habit out of it. This is one of my parts of the blame… the other… “Arthur? Stop that, please. It hadn’t been your fault.”

“But of course. I had known where my father went… and I had had an idea about what he wanted to do. But I hadn’t told you… because I was… mad at you. Such a good reason, don’t you think?”

“You hadn’t even been in the castle, Arthur. Don’t you remember? You’d come back home from patrol in the evening and learned where your father went… and yes, you hadn’t told me immediately… but at that time, my mother had been already dead.”

“I remember every second of that day… and I also remember the days before. I had been yelling loudly at you for being a warlock; so loudly, I’d made overhearing easy.”

“I should have told you long before that day. I’m to blame for this, Arthur.”

The King continued, as if he hadn’t heard Merlin. “When I learned my father had been riding to Ealdor… I should have told you. I hadn’t been mad, that was a lie. But I was scared… so scared you would follow him and…”

“Kill him? I did it anyway.”

“No. I was afraid he would kill you. I knew he would the moment he’d see you. I knew how lucky you had been that… Gaius… had managed to keep you hidden. I… I hadn’t wanted to lose you. And yet, I did.”

Merlin glanced again at Arthur, and this time, blue eyes looked straight back at him. After taking a deep breath, Merlin asked, “How honest do you want me to be?”

Arthur cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean? Completely honest, of course.”

The warlock leaned back against the headboard. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I tell you something I’m still not sure you want to hear? Even if it would risk what we just –maybe- found again?”

Merlin saw Arthur swallow, then the King nodded. “Yes.”

***

For the third time, Merlin opened his mouth and still, nothing came out. He felt more than stupid when faced with Arthur’s expectant look. Gods! There it is again… the feeling that I can’t tell him. At least not when he finally looks at me as if I matter to him. As if he cares. Maybe I should just be satisfied with this, with having the chance to build a friendship again. But then… I would once more build this friendship upon a lie.

“Merlin… whatever it is, you can…”

“Oh, oh… be careful, Arthur. There are some things that are now far more difficult than fifteen years ago.”

“Why?”

Merlin huffed. “Well, for example, this new religion your wife brought to us. Do you know that these rooms and my chambers up there are the only ones in the whole castle without weird fish-symbols on the walls?”

“What does that have to do with whatever you want to tell me? And by the way, it isn’t about fish, it’s…”

“Do I look like I care?” The warlock interrupted. Then, more thoughtfully, Merlin continued, “But you know, I wonder… what would her God say about what’s she’s doing in her bed whenever you’re not here?”

Wincing, Arthur shook his head. “It’s not really her fault. It’s…”

“Let me take a guess, Arthur. It is somehow your fault, isn’t it? You’re overdoing the ‘The Blame is Mine” thing you have going.”

“It is.” Arthur looked almost desperately at Merlin. “I’m not exactly… ah shit.” The King leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, but not quickly enough; Merlin had seen the tears in his eyes. Suddenly furious, the warlock snapped, “How? How on Earth can this be your fault, Arthur? Huh?”

For a moment, Arthur didn’t answer. Then… “I’m not good in… well. I’m not a good lover.”

Merlin stared at the blond man for a few minutes, and then, for the second time tonight, he burst out laughing. When he noticed Arthur standing up, he grabbed him at the arm and drew him back, still giggling. “No, no… that… wasn’t… I’m not laughing at you! Really! I’m just… Gods… that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Ridiculous, hm? How would you know?” Arthur asked angrily.

Oh boy. Isn’t that the question of my life? “Of course I know. No one is a bad lover… to be bad it takes two. I just bet…” deep breath “… you would be a perfect lover… with the right partner.”

Now Merlin had the King’s undivided attention… and the warlock felt close to throwing up. For the life of him, he couldn’t read Arthur’s expression.

“And who do you think… may be the right partner for me?”

Merlin’s heart began to sink; he tried to put his old mask on and knew he failed spectacularly. “Well… I told you that you might not want to hear this, didn’t I?”

Arthur lowered and shook his head. Just as Merlin decided to get out of there as quickly as possible, the King started to speak. “Gods, Merlin. You couldn’t have told me that… I don’t know, twenty years ago? Right at the beginning? I’d never thought…”

Merlin kind of couldn’t understand the rest, his heart was hammering far too loud in his ears. So he had been right all along. Bloody hell! Why hadn’t he… He suddenly noticed Arthur was looking at him as if expecting an answer. To what, Merlin couldn’t even venture a guess.

“Uh… what? I was… what?”

Arthur was fidgeting. “I asked you if you’re… sure. Really sure.”

Stupid. This man is and had always been stupid. Just as I. “Oh hell, yes.” With that, Merlin grabbed Arthur by the scruff of his neck and dragged him over the small mattress right into his arms. The warlock was already regretting two things: How fast this would be over and the fact they were down here and not in his huge bed upstairs. Then Arthur’s lips met his and his brain said good-bye and left the room.

***

“Gods, I don’t believe it! Get it off! Who the hell is dressing you these days?” Merlin, already half naked and freezing, was ripping just as frustrated as Arthur on the King’s belt.

“I did that myself.”

“Now that explains it. GAH!” A sudden flash of light, and the belt flew through the air.

“Why didn’t you do that before?”

Merlin showed the King his trembling hands. “I didn’t want to hex something else off; I’m not too steady right now!” When he saw Arthur’s slightly shocked expression, the warlock laughed quietly. “Nah, don’t worry. Joking. That’s the last thing I would hex off.”

“Merlin…”

“Oh no, please. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts, now?”

Arthur swallowed. “No, no second thoughts. It’s just… I’m really dreadful at this.” Before Arthur could avert his eyes, Merlin enfolded his face and leaned close. “Listen to me. She messed around with you. Arthur, I don’t think she…” Merlin broke off.

Blue eyes met his. “Spit it out, whatever you wanted to say!”

“I don’t think she… loves you.” Cringing a bit, Merlin was surprised when Arthur laughed straight into his face, loudly.

“You think? She never loved me, Merlin. The Prince? Probably. The King? Maybe. Me? Never. I’m not even sure if she loves Lancelot! I have no idea what’s going on inside her head.”

“I do.”

“You know what she wants?”

“No! I meant… ah hell!” Mortified, Merlin wondered if Arthur could see how badly he was blushing. He really should stop talking; they had been doing so greatly with the kissing.

This time, Arthur took hold of Merlin’s face and made him look into his eyes. “I love you, too, Merlin. I always have.”

“Please, Arthur, you don’t have to…”

“It’s the truth! But hell, Merlin, you never seemed to be interested! You never seemed to be interested in anyone, really! And then, after what had happened, I’d lost all… well.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes. But whatever you want to do now, I’m still dreadful at it.”

Merlin, who felt a bit crazy now due to unbelievable happiness, laughed softly. “I wouldn’t know anyway, so again, don’t worry. If you’re dreadful, I’m worse. But I bet we won’t notice… this will be over in two minutes. If you hurry a bit with the undressing, maybe in one minute. We can think about how dreadful we are the next time.”

To Merlin’s disappointment, Arthur obviously still wasn’t finished with talking. “What do you mean, you wouldn’t know anyway?”

Damn the man! Merlin wondered if it was possible to blush all over. If it was, he had managed to do so. “What do you think it means?”

A wondrous expression on his face, Arthur asked, “No one?”

“No one.” Merlin shrugged a bit, embarrassed. “I was only interested in you, and I never thought… I’d have a chance. I have a really good imagination, though.”

“Merlin, I promise I…”

“If the word ‘deflower’ comes out of your mouth, I will hex you into a toad.”

***

“Ungnnnnnf.”

Merlin, lying on his back, could only agree. Ungnnnnnf indeed. Staring up at the ceiling, the warlock pondered if he had been right with the estimated two minutes. It had seemed to be longer and shorter at the same time. But he had lost it completely after they had both been naked and Arthur had been grinding down on him and… wow. He had only one single thought in his head right now. He wanted to do it again. As soon as possible.

“You all right?” His absolute perfect lover beside him asked.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘all right’,” the warlock answered. Somehow he found the energy to turn his head on the pillow and look at Arthur. Wow. The King looked… good. Really good. “You’re perfect.” And then Merlin watched with delight Arthur Blushing. All. Over.

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?”

“Aw Merlin, come on…”

“You are!” Merlin turned completely and right into an embrace. He hoisted himself up on one elbow and started to stroke over Arthur’s face with one finger. “Beautiful. Inside and out. I’m so sorry I made myself stop seeing it. Gods, I love you so much.”

Arthur raised his hand and combed his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “I’m sorry, too. So much time, lost. I…” Merlin laid one finger across Arthur’s lips.

“It doesn’t matter. The years don’t matter, Arthur. We have eternity.” Merlin was feeling a bit woozy… he hadn’t drunken anything, and still, the room swayed slightly. Apparently sex with Arthur was so brilliant he had become tipsy. Then, he got serious again, following the big scar that went from Arthur’s temple down to his chin with a fingertip. “I wish I could have prevented that.”

“You weren’t there when it happened.”

“No excuse.”

Arthur huffed. “Well, at least the beard covers most of it.”

“Ah, the beard. Arthur? Would you be terribly hurt if I’d tell you I hate the beard? And the long hair? It’s awful.”

The King laughed. “No, not at all. Hell, hex it off right now. Go ahead!”

For a minute, Merlin actually considered doing it. Then he shook his head. “No. I’m really a bit out of it right now… I will shave you tomorrow, without magic. I’m looking forward to it.” The warlock yawned. “Will feel like the old times again.”

“Yes.” Arthur yawned, too.

“What do you think, Almighty King? Should we drag ourselves upstairs to my chambers?”

Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment, then he shook his head. “Would you mind staying here for the night? I’ll keep you warm.”

Merlin looked at the barren room, at his old thin mattress… but whatever. “We can stay here, if you want. But I do count on you to keep me warm; I get cold very easily.”

“I promise.” Arthur rolled back on top of Merlin, grinning. “Warm enough?”

“Perfect, as before.” Wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck, the Royal Warlock kissed the King again. “Gods, I could kiss you for the rest of my life.”

“You will,” Arthur answered, smiling happily.

“You look so different now. A few hours before, you looked like the whole world was resting on your shoulders. Now you look… free.”

“Well, I just made love with the one person I always loved. And I enjoyed it more than I can tell you.”

“Arthur? You do know we’re both the worst pushovers ever, don’t you?”

“Do you care?”

“No.”

“Me neither. Maybe tomorrow.” Arthur smiled again. “Let’s go to sleep, love.”

“Mhm.” Merlin raised his hand to catch the two capes that were flying in their direction, and then tried to get a bit closer to Arthur, and drifted off to sleep.

***

A few hours later –it was still dark behind the window- the warlock woke up for a moment, because he was cold. Feeling around a bit, he drowsily noticed that Arthur had somehow managed, even on this tiny mattress, to hog the covers. He shoved the other man, who seemed to be kind of wrapped into sheets, around a bit until he got Arthur half on top of him and himself a bit under the blanket. For a minute, the warlock wondered -Blanket?- but then Arthur snuggled close and it was warm again and hell, he was tired. He kissed the other man’s cheek and fell asleep, still having the feeling something weird was going on.

***

There was loud knocking. “Merlin? Merlin!”

A door opened. “Merlin! You really don’t want to be late on… OH DEAR!”

Sitting up, heart pounding, Merlin stared unbelievingly at the old man on the threshold. “Gaius?” Beside him, Arthur was mumbling something, still not really awake.

The old physician stared straight back at the warlock and then started to retreat quickly.

“Gaius? Gaius, wait!”

“No, no,” came the answer behind the already closed door. “I don’t want to know. I really don’t want to know! I’m going to the market!”

Bang! That had been the sound of the door to the laboratory being shut.

Merlin sat on his bed, blinking rapidly. What…? Then his gaze fell on his hands and he simply stared. No way could this be happening. It had to be a dream. Almost scared, he looked at Arthur who somehow was still asleep, and stared again. No beard. No scars. Short hair. He didn’t look a day older than when they had met the first time. All right. This really didn’t feel like a dream.

“Arthur?” Gods! What if… what if he doesn’t remember last night? Where are we? Or better, when are we? “Arthur!”

The King -Prince?- turned his face into the pillow. “Gods, Merlin. Lemme sleep a bit more, all right? I’m not used to what we’ve been doinnnnn mmmmpf.”

“Arthur, wake up, RIGHT NOW!”

Groaning, the blond man sat up, eyes still closed. “What?” He asked and then rubbed his face with both hands. Pause. “I thought you didn’t want to shave me with magic? What…?” Arthur broke off the moment his eyes opened. After a second, they were wide open. “What the hell… what did you do?”

Merlin shook his head. “Nothing I can remember. Arthur… uh… Gaius just came in to wake me.”

“WHAT?”

“I know.” Standing up, Merlin opened a drawer to get a mirror. After one look into it, he groaned even louder than Arthur had a minute ago. Gods. After years of being glad that he finally had grown into his face, he was now back again to the bony face and the big ears. Not that this was the really important thing right now. “Merlin?” Right.

Arthur was looking scared and Merlin didn’t blame him a bit.

“I swear. Arthur, I swear I didn’t do anything… No spell, no noth…” His voice trailed off when he remembered the way he had been feeling last night. ’It doesn’t matter. The years don’t matter, Arthur. We have eternity.’ Maybe he had somehow managed…

“Merlin, talk to me!”

“Yesterday, I told my mother even I can’t turn back time. But maybe…”

“You talked to your mother yesterday?”

Now Arthur looked freaked out.

“Uh… sometimes I can… You know what? That doesn’t matter right now!” Merlin yelled, then cringed. “Sorry. But… I’ll tell you later, okay? We have to find out now what’s going on… where we are. If this is really Camelot or if something has changed since… Gods. Arthur… I think Gaius just woke me to tell me I don’t want to be late on my first day at service. As your new manservant.” Merlin looked for a minute at the shell-shocked man on the bed. “Wow. I don’t think he was impressed to find out I’m already at work.”

“But that didn’t happen then!”

“Exactly. And that is why we have to be really careful. Arthur, this could be…” The warlock stopped when Arthur suddenly jumped up and hugged him. “What?”

“Merlin, if this is true… then you did indeed give us eternity.”

Although he couldn’t believe it himself, Merlin swerved when Arthur leaned forward to kiss him. “No! Arthur… this is dangerous! Think for a minute… with your head. If this is real, you’re not the King. Think! Uther. Morgana.” Mordred! “The Dragon. Gwen…”

“Merlin! I’m not stupid. But you should do some thinking yourself! Your mother. Your father. Gaius. And hey… Lancelot and Gwen!”

Merlin swallowed hard. He had the feeling he couldn’t move, in any direction. So much for the Sight. So much for all the shit that had happened. But… “The future…”

“Stop! If this proves to be the real thing, the future is unwritten yet.”

“But we have our memories.”

“Yes. And if you ask me, we deserve a second chance! We do!”

Breathing in shakily, Merlin was very glad about the protective arms still wrapped around him. He was scared; meddling with the future was deadly. But Arthur was right, too; the future was -could be- yet unwritten. Gods. His head was buzzing like a beehive.

“Arthur, we have to go out and look for clues if this is, in fact, true.”

“We should put some clothes on, before,” the prince smirked.

“Yeah. And you have to stop being so giddy! Please try to remember how you treated me then, all right?”

“What? You want to go back to scrubbing floors and…”

“No! I can do that now with magic any…” Merlin broke off again and sat down hard. He hadn’t thought about it yet, but… he had been, and still was, now far more powerful than his younger self. And this in turn meant…

Arthur sat down on his heels in front of him; Merlin tried to keep his eyes on the prince’s face. It was hard to ignore a glorious naked Arthur.

“What is it, Merlin?”

“Uh… I think I’m having some kind of nervous break-down.”

“What?”

“I just thought about magic… and me… and your father. Arthur, I doubt I can just stand aside and let Uther kill people. Huh. I doubt I can face your father at all!”

“Hey…” Arthur touched Merlin’s cheek gently, “… we’ll manage. Somehow. Don’t forget, we’re both here… we can talk things through. And hell, if everything else fails, you can get us away from here!”

Merlin stared at Arthur, then he sighed. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Could you kiss me right through that mattress? Could you make love to me, right now? I think I really need this to keep it together.”

“I’d be delighted.”

“Thank you.”

***

Tired again, but still far too nervous, Merlin followed Arthur down the steps and out on the courtyard. He wasn’t only scared of his own reactions, he was even more scared of Arthur’s behavior. The prince was in a far too good mood. Arthur had never been so… good-humored in those days; and the way others looked at the smiling man proved that running around with such a big grin was not a good idea. “Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “Turn it down a bit. You look too happy.”

Arthur cocked his head and grinned even more. And Gods… Merlin just had to smile back, at least a bit. The prince, he… looked so happy and free and… well, as if he just got laid, and all of a sudden, Merlin had to avert his gaze because he felt tears springing to his eyes. This was what he had dreamt of so many nights; he had thought those dreams as a punishment for all the mistakes he had made in his life. And now… maybe these dreams had been visions in reality, and the dreams he believed caused by the Sight had been nightmares?

Still blinking to shoo the tears away, Merlin took a few steps forward without looking and bumped into another person. Looking up, the warlock jumped back, right into Arthur’s arms. UTHER! Shit.

“Now, now,” he heard the king say. “Don’t look so scared, young man. But watch out where you’re going next time. Arthur… are you all right, Son?”

Scared, my ass. You should be thankful you’re still alive! Outwardly, Merlin lowered his head meekly, mumbling, “I’m sorry, my Lord.” Then he noticed Arthur still hadn’t said a word. After a quick side-glance at the prince, who stood there staring at his father, the warlock looked again down at his boots and let his magic pinch Arthur in the arse.

That startled Arthur right out of his stunned state. “Ah, Father… I’m sorry, what did you say? My thoughts are already on… uh.”

“The tournament, I know.” Uther smiled, which made Merlin grind his teeth some more. “I won’t prevent you from training. I want to see you win, Son!” Uther clapped Arthur on the shoulder and went by, vanishing inside the castle.

After a few moments, Merlin heard the other man say, “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Then both of them looked at each other. “Tournament?”

***

“Wow,” Merlin remarked. “Valiant will be so disappointed when the snakes won’t move.” Arthur and he were still staring at the huge wooden wall with all the shield images on it. “At least now we know what day it is.”

“We’re right at the beginning.”

“Yes. And stop that, you’re giddy again.”

“Merlin… you do know that when his shield isn’t working, you will save one of my knights the day after tomorrow?” Arthur said quietly.

Sighing, Merlin pointed to the empty wooden benches around the field. “Let’s talk over there.”

After they had taken their seats and Merlin had made sure no one was close enough to overhear them, he answered. “See, that’s what I meant before. I don’t know what to do or what I shouldn’t do. Shall I let him die?”

“No!”

“But he did die the last time. How can I…”

“Merlin. You know as well as I do that it is impossible to change nothing. Do you know why I know this? Because even if my life would depend on it, I won’t touch Gwen again.”

“Hell, if you touch Gwen again, you can forget about your life.” Ignoring Arthur’s bark of laughter, Merlin looked morosely down at the field. There were far too many things to consider… Mordred and Morgana for example. Morgana… well, he had time there. About a year, to decide what to do with her. Mordred on the other hand… Merlin wondered if the boy would even show up here. Mordred was cunning, as a boy and later as a man. He would probably sense how powerful Merlin now was and wouldn’t come to the castle. But if he did… Merlin wouldn’t make this mistake twice.

“Hey. One day at a time, all right?”

“Hm?”

“You look like the whole world is resting on your shoulders.”

Merlin huffed. “What, now you start repeating me?”

“If it’s worth repeating.” Arthur smiled at him again, this goddamn happy smile, and finally, Merlin gave in.

“All right, Sire.” Ignoring the groan and the smile, Merlin leaned back at the wood behind him and relaxed for the first time. “What do you want to do right now? And please, nothing that involves meeting Gwen, Morgana or Gaius. Your father was more than enough for me to handle.”

“You know what the first thing will be that we’ll change?”

“Do tell.”

“You will move up to my chambers. You will live in the servant’s room right beside mine.”

“After this morning, I can’t wait to see Gaius’ reaction to that.” Merlin sighed. “You really think we can pull that off?”

“Pull what off? You got out of it the last time! Usually my manservant sleeps in the adjourning room. I let you sleep downstairs!”

The warlock shook his head. “You know very well that wasn’t what I meant, Arthur.”

“Merlin, behind locked doors, we can do whatever we want. And if someone finds out… those things aren’t unheard of, you know?”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“So now you want to what? Move my things?”

“No.” Arthur stood up and jumped over a few benches down to the ground. Again, there were butterflies in Merlin’s stomach when he saw how young Arthur looked. This was worth everything.

Merlin looked around once more to see if they were still alone, then hissed, “What have you in mind right now?”

“I need to train for the tournament.” A huge toothy grin appeared on Arthur’s face. “How’s your mace work coming along?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“No. Don’t forget the helmet!” Laughing, Arthur broke out into a run toward the armory while Merlin followed him at a slower pace. When he was in the middle of the field, the warlock paused for a moment and looked around. The sun was blazing above him, everything was bright, he could hear laughter from the market. Before he moved on, he threw one glance at the huge red-golden Pendragon banner. A sudden breeze sprung up, making the dragon rear up for a second and then rest again.

Merlin smiled; then he turned about and followed his lover. Arthur had been right, they were really deserving a second chance.

The End.

~ Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity. ~

Senecca

Merlin Fic: An Infuriating Man

silkmoth101 — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 12:36:04 GMT

Title: An Infuriating Man
Summary: Merlin broke into a run, arrived at the field and saw Arthur pummeling Gerard across it. The other knights were standing huddled together at one side, looking like frightened mice.
Warnings/Spoilers: Slash, First Time, Spoilers for all Seasons (to be on the safe side, but tbh, there aren’t any spoilers at all in this story; please take a look at the Author’s notes)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word Count: ~ 2.500
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.

Author’s notes: There is a tiny spoiler for a tiny scene in the episode “Gwaine”. But hell, this scene could have happened in every episode I’ve seen so far, so it isn’t really a spoiler. :)

I want to thank my lovely beta keli . Although she really wants to get her hands on the last part of WJ, she is still perfectly willing to beta these little pieces. *takes a bow and... tacklehugs you*

An Infuriating Man

“Merlin!”

Dammit, where was the brainless twit? Arthur was sure that he had at least spent one year of his life searching for this idiot. And that was no mean feat, considering Merlin had been living only for three years in Camelot. The prince ripped one part of the armor he had been wearing on patrol off and threw it down on the floor. Not that it mattered; the floor was littered with clothes, towels, cups and… damn the man! Arthur’s favorite sword.

“MERLIN!”

While Arthur was leaning down to get his sword off the floor, he heard behind him the door flying open and Merlin, in a very pissed-off sounding voice, yelling, “WHAT?”

Instead of his sword, Arthur grabbed the nearest goblet, turned around and threw it with all his might at his manservant. “THAT!” Satisfied, he watched the goblet bouncing off Merlin’s nose; then he listened even more satisfied to the other man, who had hidden his face behind his forarms, being his usual whiny self. “Ow! Ow, dammit, stop that shit!”

“Could you maybe explain to me what you have been doing the last hours while…” Arthur’s voice trailed off when he finally got a good look at Merlin’s face. He had a black eye, a rather impressive one; the swelling went down over his right cheekbone. Arthur felt his temper rise; no one, no one was allowed to hurt Merlin, no matter how stupid his manservant was behaving. NO ONE.

“Who did this?” Arthur hissed while he went over to his manservant.

Merlin looked up, hand still on his nose, and asked, “Are you insane? You just threw that thing at me!” He lowered his hand; it came away bloody.

“Ah shit!”

“What the hell…?”

“What did you expect, oh Mighty One? These things are heavy!” With that, Merlin kicked the goblet across the room, then he unwrapped his scarf to press it against his nose. “That was exactly what I needed today, thank you very much!”

Arthur heard himself saying, “You could learn to duck,” when he really didn’t want to. He was still staring at the giant shiner on Merlin’s face. He was absolutely sure the goblet wasn’t responsible for it.

“Yes!” Merlin bitched back. “That’s it! I should probably learn to walk on my knees after all, like you suggested on the first day we met!” His manservant turned away, cursing under his breath; he still had his left hand with the scarf pressed to his nose, with his other hand he started to pick up a few clothes. “Arthur? Would it kill you to throw your clothes once in a while on a…”

Arthur didn’t listen anymore. Since Merlin had removed the scarf, Arthur had a very good view of Merlin’s slender neck; it was also bruised all over. Actually, it looked as if someone had grabbed Merlin and shook him like a dog would its prey. The prince leaned down, got a hold of Merlin’s arms and hoisted him up. Arthur ignored Merlin’s startled look and carried his manservant over to the bed, making him sit on it.

“Arthur? I would like to finish cleaning your chambers before dinner, okay?”

“What happened to you today?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Nothing! Can I now…”

“Merlin! Someone hit you! Or how did you mange to get that black eye? And your neck is bruised all over, So. What. Happened. To. You?”

Merlin looked up at him for awhile, then he raised his eyebrows. “Well, the bruising on my neck? That was another cup you threw at me, a few days ago.”

Sinking down on the bed right beside Merlin, Arthur asked aghast, “What?”

“Yeah, I’d thought you forgot about it. You do it so often; it has to be hard to remember. Maybe you should sometimes recall that I don’t wear an armor… like you,” Merlin smirked.

“This isn’t funny at all,” Arthur said and tried to get another look at the bruise. Merlin swerved. “Then maybe you should stop throwing shit at me?” He tried to stand up and Arthur immediately grabbed his arm again. “Who hit you?”

A sigh. “No, Arthur. While I would immensely enjoy listening to you telling your buddies why it’s perfectly fine for you to throw things at my head but not for others, I know that look on your face. I’m not a damsel in distress, thank you very much.”

“This is something completely different! I didn’t mean to… I… You’re special. You’re mine!” Arthur barked, and then his brain caught up with what he just had said. Great. He felt heat rising to his face.

Merlin swallowed and stood up, looking a bit flushed himself. “Indeed. And since I’m so special and… yours, I will now clean your rooms.”

“Leave it! Your nose is still bleeding; I give you the day off. Go down to Gaius and get something for it… and for your eye.”

Merlin sighed, nodded and went over to the door. Hand on the handle, he turned around once more. “I know it’s not my place to say but… could you maybe avoid making an even bigger mess today?”

“I’ll have another servant clean it. You make sure to be back with my breakfast tomorrow.”

“Another servant, huh? Please don’t throw anything at him, I become jealous very easily.” After that, Merlin closed the door behind him quickly.

Arthur sighed and let himself fall backwards on the bed, rubbing his eyes. Dammit! He had never thought he would actually hurt Merlin by throwing stuff at him. He didn’t even know why he did it; the last cup he had thrown at another servant had happened when he had been four years old. Usually, he didn’t even notice his servants. Arthur sighed again. Well, that was definitely not the case with Merlin, and had never been.

Looking up at the canopy, he heard Merlin’s voice again: …while I would immensely enjoy listening to you telling your buddies… So. One of the knights, then.

***

Merlin woke up to Gaius’ clatterings in the adjourning room. Yawning, he turned around on his bed and opened his eyes just to close them tightly immediately. Dammit, he hated it when the sun was shining straight… The sun? He sat up abruptly. Gods, he had overslept, for quite a few hours obviously. Getting up quickly, he groaned and felt around for the big bruise on his lower back. Merlin was very glad that Arthur hadn’t discovered that one; dealing with Gaius’ rage had been bad enough. Apparently this bruise looked exactly like the print of a boot, which made sense… it had been caused by a boot, Sir Gerard’s boot, to be precise. Gerard was the biggest ass that stalked around in Camelot, and Merlin couldn’t wait to catch him unaware. But now was definitely not the time to muse about what he would do to that ass, now was the time to get dressed very fast and think about a really good excuse why he hadn’t shown up with breakfast.

While he was getting his own boots on, Merlin wondered if he would really need an excuse… Arthur had been very, very sorry the day before. Not that he had said as much, but Merlin didn’t need to hear it, he knew it anyway. Arthur had looked horrified. Maybe two years ago, Merlin would have enjoyed it; now, not so much. He wouldn’t mind if Arthur stopped throwing things -his aim was pretty good and it hurt like hell- but Merlin also knew Arthur had no idea how much it hurt; he had the suspicion the prince simply didn’t know how strong he was. But now Arthur had caught on and while Merlin wouldn’t miss being a target, he fervently hoped Arthur wouldn’t stop the wrestling matches. They left him bruised all over, too, but… boy, he would really miss wrestling with Arthur.

Stomping down the few stairs to Gaius’ room, he asked the old man, “Why didn’t you wake me? Arthur will be delighted when I serve his breakfast three hours late.”

Gaius turned around to look him over, one eyebrow almost meeting the hairline. “Arthur was here at dawn; he told me to let you sleep in. He apparently wanted to start the knight’s training early today.”

Gods. “Gaius, please tell me you haven’t told Arthur?”

“Told him what? About Sir Gerard or about the fact he himself should stop abusing you?”

“He isn’t abusing… Gaius! You didn’t tell him about Gerard, did you?”

Gaius huffed. “No, I didn’t. But you should.”

“I can handle him on my own; I most certainly don’t need Arthur for it.”

Ignoring Gaius’ grumblings, Merlin snatched a piece of bread from the table and trotted out of the laboratory, heading for the training’s field.

Halfway there, he met Sir Robert, one of Gerard’s closest friends, supported by two of his servants, looking half-dead. All three of them shrank back from him.

Oh no.

Merlin broke into a run, arrived at the field and saw Arthur pummelling Gerard across it. The other knights were standing huddled together at one side, looking like frightened mice.

Great.

Leaning back on one of the wooden posts, Merlin continued to watch the unequal fight. Sir Gerard was obviously brainless enough to not stay down when he really should. And Arthur, the idiot, hadn’t even put his chain mail on. Merlin remembered his own remark about not wearing armor and rolled his eyes. Gods, this man was so infuriating. Infuriating and… noble.

Finally, Gerard managed to stumble over his own feet again and went down, and stayed down. Arthur hissed something at him Merlin didn’t understand, and then swaggered toward Merlin, drenched in sweat. Merlin threw him a towel when he was close enough and asked, “How did you find out?”

“I asked.”

“You asked?”

“Yes. I asked in a very manly way which of them helped to reign my manservant in. Imagine my surprise when three of them came forward.”

“Why, that was almost… smart. Wait. Three of them?”

Arthur finished rubbing the sweat off his face and threw the towel at the ground, not at Merlin’s face. Merlin sighed inwardly. “Three of them?” he asked again.

“Yep.” Arthur smirked, turned around and marched back to the middle of the field. “Sir Thomas, if you may?”

Merlin picked up the towel.

***

Arthur sat on his bed and swallowed his groans; Merlin’s cursing was bad enough. “Can you maybe explain what sense it makes that we’re now both covered in bruises?”

“The others look far worse.”

Splat. The wet piece of linen landed again on the cut above his right eyebrow. This time, Arthur winced. “Could you be a bit more careful?”

“I have to stop the bleeding! I wouldn’t have to do that if you had remembered to wear a helmet while beating the shit out of Sir Thomas!”

Arthur felt himself smirking again; he had had so much fun this morning, beating those assholes into the ground. It was so worth a few cuts and bruises.

“You think this is funny?”

Arthur looked up at Merlin and smiled broadly. “I do.” Watching, not for the first time, how his smile seemed to totally distract the other man, Arthur thought, Now. He wrapped one arm around Merlin’s waist and drew him down on the bed, fascinated by the way Merlin’s eyes were becoming really big. Arthur let his fingers wander gently over Merlin’s neck, asking, “Does it still hurt?”

“What?”

“Your neck. Does it still hurt?”

“Uh… no?”

“You’re not sure?”

“What?”

Arthur smiled again. “And your nose?” One finger ghosted over the tip. “It sure looks as if it would still hurt. I’m really sorry.”

“Uh…”

“At least nothing happened to your lips. That would have been a shame,” Arthur said, leaning closer. He watched Merlin intently, but the other man didn’t retreat; his eyes were starting to cross, though. Arthur cocked his head to one side to avoid crushing Merlin’s nose and kissed him softly and slowly. Supporting Merlin’s shoulders with one hand, he carefully tipped him backwards until Merlin was lying on the bed and Arthur on top of him. The moment Merlin’s lips opened, Arthur deepened the kiss, feeling the man beneath him shudder all over. Gods, Merlin tasted better than Arthur had ever imagined. Trembling himself when Merlin buried his hands in Arthur’s hair and drew him even closer, the prince started to move his hips slowly against Merlin’s. Drowning for a few moments in glorious sensations, Arthur was not amused when Merlin drew his head back a bit, breathing heavily.

“Uh… Arthur? What…?”

“Don’t tell me you never thought about this?”

“Uh… I did… but…”

“You’re not interested? Just tell me and I…” Arthur broke off when he felt Merlin’s fingers clutching his tunic. Arthur leaned down again just to hear Merlin say, “This is not a buddy thing, is it?”

Arthur snorted. “No. This is a damsel thing.”

“You have to call it that? I’m not a damsel.”

Arthur just kissed him again, shortly. “I know you’re not, believe me. But it is still a damsel thing. Or maybe a princess thing.”

“A maid thing?”

“Forget about the maids.”

Sliding one hand under Merlin’s tunic, Arthur stroked slowly over Merlin’s chest, watching the other man arc against him. This was probably the hottest thing he ever had seen and explained nicely why Arthur was already out of breath. Panting a bit, he slid his hand downwards and had just reached Merlin’s waistband when Merlin laid his hand over his, stopping him.

“Arthur, I have to tell you something.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Arthur, really I… have to.”

The prince looked at Merlin’s quite desperate expression and sighed. “I really don’t want to know. I wouldn’t understand it anyway. You know, I never understood things like floating spears, airborne benches, flying plates… boiling hot water that had been cold a second before. Should I go on?” Merlin shook his head, eyes huge again. “I thought as much. I’m too stupid to understand those things, so it wouldn’t make sense you’re telling me anything. At least not right now, okay?” Merlin nodded. “Good. You’re all right with me getting these pants off you?” Apparently completely mute now, Merlin nodded again.

A few minutes later, Arthur decided he could live with a speechless Merlin for awhile, as long as he kept on moaning.

The End.